Memorabilia
by KaleidoscopeColours2101
Summary: "So, your parents have no idea of who you are anymore, and you decide to come to me for help, why?" In which Hermione enlists Draco Malfoy's help. Dramione
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Hermione scratched the scar on the inside of her forearm nervously. A deep, red line was etched into her skin, like her own personal dark mark. Her eyes were closed tightly, trying to repel away the dreams that she knew would come, yearning for once to have a peaceful night of sleep.

It was like this every night. She would scratch her arm anxiously in her sleep before waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares.

This particular night was no different. The scenario was running through her mind. She was in the Forest Of Dean, the snatcher in front of her. She knew deep in her mind that nothing was going to happen to her. She was so careful. He couldn't see her, could he?

Her heart pounded, hear ears rushing with blood.

She didn't come from pure blood lines. They wanted her dead. Out of Hogwarts. Sent to a mental institution in the muggle world. Considered crazy by the muggles and not accepted by those of her own kind.

She felt like she couldn't breathe. Hand were around her neck, cutting off her supply of air.

All of a sudden, she sat up in her bed, gasping for breath.

Her face had smothered itself in her pillow and her necklace was caught on her bushy hair, tugging her neck back.

Untangling it, Hermione took a large breath. She was safe in the burrow, thoroughly protected by spells that Molly Weasley and Arthur had put up in their own superstition.

The war was over, but they were all traumatised.

George hardly ever finished his sentences, obviously used to Fred being the one to finish them. Every time no sound came from the area next to him, or from behind him, he sadly finished his sentence, always sadder at the end of it than at the start.

Ginny had been having a hard time since her first year at Hogwarts, because of the chamber of secrets. She tried to return for her sixth year, but it was hell for her with the Death Eaters running the school.

Harry was a completely different story. Guilt followed around him like a dementor following a criminal. His eyes were hollow, his heart heavier than before.

Arthur and Molly were especially cautious, putting up more barriers than necessary because they didn't want what happened to Fred to repeat to any of their other children.

The clock on the side of her room had the big hand between the 7 and the 8, and the little hand was halfway between the 4 and the 5. 4:37. There was no way she was going back to sleep now.

Her wand was underneath her pillow, in the pillowcase so that no one could take it away from her easily, without waking her up. Her room was already bright, as she was now scared of the dark a little. She was getting better at handling her fears than she was at the end of the war.

A letter slid under her door, addressed

 _Hermione Jean Granger,_

 _The Burrow,_

 _The door at the end of the corridor on the second floor._

She made her way across the room to pick it up. Only on place was that precise with the addresses. The Hogwarts stamp holding the envelope together confirmed her suspicions.

Carefully opening it, she picked out the letter.

 _Dear Hermione Granger,_

 _We are pleased to invite to return back to Hogwarts, School for Witchcraft and Wizardry for your final, seventh year._

 _The staff and newly appointed Headmistress acknowledge that there is a repeat in years, and formally apologise to those effected directly by this change, namely the new first years and the previous years first years, as the selection was not generous in the last year, and for that there is going to be an exceptionally large class of first years, containing the previous year's first years, and the new ones that will be passing through the school._

 _Hogwarts offers counsellors to those students needing the extra support in the duration of the next year. The school also offers condolences to those who have lost loved ones during the war, however does not wish the students to feel unsafe in their grounds. Fresh, stronger magical barriers have been put up, granting only those who have been invited in entrance._

 _Please find the enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _The Term begins on September 1_ _st_ _. We await your owl of confirmation no later than July 31_ _st_ _._

 _Yours Sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress._

Hermione sighed deeply. Where else was she to go? Her parents had no recollection of who she was, and Arthur was about to go back to work. She did not see herself being of much use around the Weasley household.

Immediately, Hermione wrote back.

 _Dear Headmistress McGonagall,_

 _I would be delighted to attend Hogwarts for another year._

 _Hermione Granger._

Hermione tiptoed her way downstairs, the letter in her hand. She quickly gave it to Errol, and then watching as the bird gradually and gracelessly flew out of sight.

She sat outside in the morning cold, the wood beneath her frozen from the night's loss of the sun. Her legs were tucked up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them. She didn't doubt that someone else would be awake soon, as none of them could really sleep well after the war.

Molly had to take a sleeping potion before bed. George and Ginny slept with the scent of lavender. Ron and Harry, who shared a room, slept with their beds as far away from the door as possible, with their beds closer together than they were before the war.

"Beautiful morning, isn't it?" Hermione ripped out her wand, standing up quickly. It was Arthur.

Mr Weasley took a step back from her, holding up his hands in surrender. He was in his robes, ready for work.

Hermione lowered her wand and apologised. "Sorry, you gave me a bit of a fright."

Arthur shook his head and smiled at her sadly. "I should have announced myself. If Molly wakes up, you tell her that I've gone to work for me, will you? Don't want her to worry about me."

"Sure thing, Mr. Weasley." Hermione smiled back. "Good luck for your day at work."

"Thank you, Hermione." She watched as he left the property, before apparating away to work. A crack filled the air, before he disappeared out of the air.

She watched the dew on the grass melt as the sun rose in front of her.

An hour or so passed, and the sun sat on the horizon nicely, spreading light around the earth. Hermione heard footsteps barrelling down the stairs.

 _Harry and Ron._

"Where did she go?" Harry seemed distressed. Hermione shut her eyes for a moment.

"I have no idea! If I knew, don't you think I would be there by now?" Ron argued. She could hear them running around, gathering things. She decided to go and ask what the whole hullabaloo was about.

As she stepped foot into the household again, their heads snapped up. Their wands were on the kitchen table, along with a few healing potions.

Relief passed over their faces, as they came forwards to embrace her. Obviously she wasn't the only one having nightmares of her disappearing. She would have been one of the first to be killed by Death Eaters because of her bloodline of muggles.

Ron awkwardly stood to the side as Harry hugged Hermione tightly. "We were so worried! Where were you?"

"Just outside," Hermione replied, rubbing his back gently. "The sunrise if very beautiful."

Harry let her go, before getting out teacups and began to brew tea. Him and Hermione were still used to doing things the Muggle way. It fascinated Arthur Weasley in particular.

They all sat around the end of the dining table, drinking their cups of tea.

"I got a letter from Hogwarts," Hermione broke the silence. "I'm going back there to try and get my last lot of credentials to be able to get a job. Did the two of you also receive letters?"

They nodded, Ron humming in agreement.

"Are you going?" She inquired. She wanted them to come back with her, so she wouldn't be alone, but she knew the likelihood of them wanting to come back after the horrific events that took place there.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno yet. Maybe."

Hermione knew not to get her hopes up.

She finished her cup of tea, right as Errol returned with the morning post. The bird flew right into the closed side of the window before he entered through the open side. Errol dumped the post on the table before flying away around the house.

 _The Daily Prophet_

 _Will Hogwarts Really Always Be Called Home Anymore For Students?_

 _Story by Rita Skeeter._

 _Hogwarts, the battleground for the recent wizarding war, has sent out it's acceptance letters for another year. But who will return to the place that many students, passed or alive, called home once? Is it really safe to send our children there?_

 _Many parents have queried with the new Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, asking about the safety of their children, knowing that Hogwarts best didn't do right before. Others have been asking if she is really the best option for Headmistress, and if there-_

Hermione stopped reading the junk of a news report, dropping it on the table in front of her.

Ginny was the next to slump down the stairs. Her hair a mess, and her eyes barely cracked open, she let her feet stomp on the steps to where the others were sitting.

"I'm not returning," She whispered to them, sitting next to Harry. "I can't. I've finished, almost, anyways. I can just get Mum to teach me, or you, Hermione."

Hermione understood her reasons for not wanting to return to Hogwarts. They were probably the same as Harry's and Ron's reasons.

Hermione nodded in understanding.

Another owl came through the window- one none of them knew. There was a letter addressed to Hermione perched in its grasp.

It dropped it in front of Hermione, before exiting, smoother than Errol could ever achieve, through the window.

She hastily opened it, not believing a word it said.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I am very delighted that you have decided to accept the offer to return to complete your last year of schooling. The teachers and I did a vote, as well as a prior vote amongst the prefects, before the letters of application were sent out, and we have decided that you are the most suitable candidate for Head Girl._

 _Congratulations on getting the position._

 _Your duties start on the train to Hogwarts. It includes helping the first years make their ways to the boats, and making sure everyone gets on and off the train suitably, and getting everyone in their robes before disembarking the train._

 _I look forwards to seeing you again when school begins. It's been much too long._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Headmistress McGonagall_

"Oh my goodness!" Hermione all but screeched. "I got Head Girl."

Harry, Ron and Ginny all looked at her, stunned. "What?" They said in unison.

"I got the position of Head Girl this year! I already wrote back to Hogwarts to say that I would like to go back, and McGonagall just sent me this letter giving me the position of Head Girl!" Hermione babbled happily- the happiest she'd been since the war finished.

"Congratulations!" Ginny cried out, grinning.

"That's amazing!" Harry smiled comfortingly at her.

Ron just looked at her in amazement.

The two of them decided that it was best to not pursue the relationship between the two of them, as it was a bit inappropriate for the time. Ron needed a good friend to be there for him- not a girlfriend.

"Well then I guess we better get going to Diagon Alley then," Molly said from behind Hermione, at the bottom of the stairs, with George trailing behind her. "Have the rest of you decided yet?"

"I'm not going back," Ginny said definitely.

"Neither," Harry nodded in agreement with Ginny.

"I don't think I want to go back. Harry and I already got job offers to become Aurors," Ron said nonchalantly, as though it were no big deal. "Training starts about the same time as school does."

Hermione had almost forgotten about their letters of recognition from the Ministry. All three of them had gotten them, thanking them for their work during the war and offering them positions. Harry and Ron accepted, but Hermione denied it, saying she wanted to do something else with her life.

"Just me then," Hermione said to Molly.

"We'll leave at 11."


	2. Chapter 2

Draco was easily the first person on the train. The platform 9 3/4 was eerily empty, though Draco could understand why. It was nine fifteen in the morning, and he was well over an hour and a half early for his train. He half expected for it to not be there, but was glad to see it, nonetheless.

He had apparated from from his family's manor, having bit his parents farewell from their foyer. They had been under close surveillance from the ministry, having escaped Azkaban by a hairsbreadth because of their 'Death Eater' status.

The train looked odd, being empty, but Draco was well used to empty rooms and halls. His mother had made sure that he would arrive early and out of the public's prying, greedy eyes.

It was bad enough knowing you didn't deserve a second chance. It was even more torturous when everyone else in the Wizarding World knew, too.

He levitated his belongings to follow him to the prefects cabin, the Head Boy badge gleaming on his robes. Draco briefly wondered to himself who the Head Girl was.

 _Oh well,_ he thought to himself. _They're probably preppy and role-model enough for the both of us._

He settled into one of the window seats of an empty cabin, closing his eyes and reveling in the peace while he could.

"Just one year," He told himself, leaning against the cool window. One year, and he would be long gone.

It wasn't long before a voice called out to him.

"Mr. Malfoy?" A shrill voice called him. Draco cracked his eyes open, feeling the weight of his sleepless nights on his eyelids.

The woman before him had a tired, worn face. Professor McGonagall, or Headmistress McGonagall, wore emerald green robes, as she normally did, with her greying hair tied back into a tight bun. A pointed, green-rimmed hat adorned her head.

"What are you doing here this early?" She inquired, stepping into the cabin.

Draco groaned internally. The last thing he wanted was to have to answer to the head of the Gryffindor house.

"Because I can be." His answer was short and precise. She didn't need to know about the sudden anxiety him and his mother had about groups of people, if you could even call it that.

She gave him an all-knowing look. She could see right through the shit like Dumbledore did.

"If," She began again, as though Draco's words had floated in one ear and out the other. "You should ever need me, Mr. Malfoy, I may not be your head of house, but I am your headmistress and as the Head Boy, you should know that you are open to see me about any issues you may be facing, educationally or socially." This was followed by a stern look, before she disappeared from his line of view.

Great. She was already onto his case, too. Draco's mother was already overbearing on her own, demanding weekly letters like she did every year since he started Hogwarts, and him ignoring her demands like every other year. This time was unlike the others, however, because she was even more scared now than ever, of what their reputation was.

" _What will the other kids think about him, Lucius? Oh goodness, what will they do to my gorgeous little Dragon?"_

Her words, however worried, were unnecessary.

Draco didn't feel like he had closed his eyes for very long before he heard the first families step onto the platform. Their laughter and words burned his ears.

Merlin, they were arriving by the dozen. Draco looked at his watch. There was half an hour until the train was due to depart. Draco had been asleep for an hour.

Well, there was no point in trying to go back to sleep, now, with all the people arriving. Asleep or not, however, Draco doubted anyone would try to sit with him. Many of them were aware about his prior allegiance to the Dark Lord, and pretty much everyone was terrified of him for it.

For what some people hated him for, others like his old friends, Blaise, Pansy and Theo hated him for siding with the school at the very last second.

" _Blood traitor."_ They had called him, along with a string of other unpleasantries. None of it particularly bothered him. None of it was new. He had heard all the things people would call him over the years.

 _Dickhead, asshole, self-absorbed, Death Eater_. The list of them really went on.

It was only when he heard a familiar girl's voice sound from outside his window, did he look up.

"Do you have everything, dear?" Draco heard a familiar sounding voice standing close to his window.

"I think so." _Her_ voice stood out to him. As all-knowing and confident as always. Well, shit. She was back, too?

"Remember to owl us whenever you get the chance, Hermione." Molly Weasley's voice shook. Draco didn't have the guts to look at her, anymore. He knew what had happened to her son, and he knew that he was one of the suspects in the murder.

"I will." This promise was probably as empty as the one Draco made to his mother to write. He looked up in time to see them hug briefly before they parted so Hermione could board the train. Draco wondered why she came back. She could probably get any job she wanted, with her history and skillset.

She looked different, however. Draco couldn't put his finger on it, as she disappeared from his sight when she boarded the train. However, he hit the nail on the head when she knocked on his compartment door and asked if he was saving any of the seats.

Hermione Granger looked like she was being haunted by the ghosts in her closet. Dark purple-ish, bruise-like circles were hanging under her eyes. He wondered if she had tried her luck at eyeshadow, and miserably failed. She looked thinner than before and a little bit pale, though Draco was not going to comment on it. He didn't look much better.

Draco had risen in the morning, rinsed his face, and not changed anything about his hair. Barely had breakfast, and gotten dressed before he was being ushered by his mother. But unlike Draco, Hermione's eyes also reeked of determination.

"Well?" She said impatiently, "Can I sit, or not?"

Draco nodded, and she sat herself down in the seat opposite him. If he were to lean forwards a little, there was a chance their knees would brush. He was close enough to see the badge that looked much like his own Head Boy badge pinned to her chest – not that he was looking there, though.

It appeared that she had also see his badge. Her eyes had widened a little when she really took note of who he was. Unlike every other witch and wizard in their world that cowered away from him, Hermione stayed planted in her spot.

"We have to organise the prefects once the train leaves, you realise?" She said, taking some parchment and a quill from her bag.

"Yes, I do, Granger,." He replied stiffly. "I see your attitude hasn't changed."

"Ditto," She scoffed.

The words had barely left her mouth before the giant clock on the platform hit eleven, and the train pulled away, leaving the families of the students on board behind.

The ride to Hogwarts was flying by fast, though it was just the two of them in the cabin. Of course they left every now and again to check on things and patrol, but otherwise they sat in silence as the countryside zoomed past their windows.

"Anything off the trolly, dearies?" The old lady shot a look at Hermione, who's nose was buried deep into a book, and then to Draco, who was starving.

Hermine didn't budge, so Draco said to the woman, "Two chocolate frogs and two pumpkin pasties." He handed over the money for the food, and then the lady was off again, her trolly rattling behind her.

Draco dropped one of each of the items on Hermione's book. Her eyes shot up at him, the brown orbs seeming to eye him and strip him of all his secrets in seconds. Her eyes could kill you with one look.

"Thank you," She said graciously, after realising what had just happened. Draco nodded at her in return.

He saw her move to take out two sandwiches from her pockets, handing one over to him. "They're ham, cheese, tomato, lettuce and mayo."

Draco looked at the wet sandwich in her hands that she was offering, before reaching out to grab it. Their hands brushed for a moment, before they hastily pulled away from eachother. Draco was so hungry, he was willing to eat a dripping sandwich, handed to him by a muggle-born.

A few wordless minutes passed between them, with each of them quietly eating their food. Hermione let out a bitter chuckle.

Draco shot her a curious look. She, in return, held up her chocolate frog card. A boy with a lightning scar on his forehead and glistening green eyes stared at him. Saint Freaking Potter.

"You'd think I see enough of him already." She tossed the card carelessly to the side. Draco scoffed and took out his own chocolate frog, stuffing it into his mouth. He quickly swallowed, before taking a look at his card.

"I got..." Draco took one look at the grey-haired man on the card. His throat choked up.

The old, greying face of Albus Dumbledore eyed him- not glaring, no. Never glaring. He looked at Draco as he always did, as though he knew something he didn't.

Draco hadn't noticed Hermione get up to sit beside him to see the card.

"You didn't kill him," Hermione said to Draco, her eyebrows furrowing in concern. She tried to look him in the eyes, but he was still looking at the card.

Dumbledore's picture turned around, before disappearing into the blackness.

"I know," Draco said. "I've heard this talk before."

Hermione just looked at him, as though she was analysing him. It made him feel awkwardly nervous. Of course, he had been on the receiving end of one of her glares before, but this look was different to all the others he seemed to get. It was almost as though she cared.

Immediately, he dismissed the thought from his head. Of course she didn't care. That would be absurd.


	3. Chapter 3

The vastness of the Great Hall never ceased to amaze Hermione, no matter how many times she made her way to the Gryffindor table. The length of the room was amazing, and the floating candles and the dark, starry ceiling made the tips of her fingers tingle. Chatter always filled the room, though this year it was quieter. Everyone remembered what had happened here.

It made her upset to see the Thestrals when she got off the train, and she saw other people physically stop moving after they saw what was pulling the carriages. Most of them had now seen death. Some even began to cry at the sight.

Hermione had shaken her head, and helped everyone get on the carriages, pushing down her feelings of anxiety. They were all too young for this.

As Hermione neared her table, she noticed how few of her year group had returned. The only people left in Gryffindor were Dean, Neville and herself. Dean positively beamed when he saw her, offering her a strong-armed hug and a pat on the back. She sat down next to Neville who smiled at her.

She was happy that they were happy. Neville had grown so much during the war, and was now much taller than she was. In her last year of absence, it seemed, he had hit a growth spurt.

She didn't need to wonder why Seamus and Parvarti hadn't returned back. According to Dean, Seamus' mother was too worried to let him from her sight.

"He thinks she's gone mad," Dean said with a shrug.

"My grandmother must be, too, then," Neville chipped in. "She wouldn't let me leave the house to see Luna much."

Dean turned to Hermione, who was oddly quiet. Her eyes were not on this earth, and her head seemed to be in the clouds for once. Her mind had wandered to her parents, and thinking about how they were doing in Australia.

"What about your parents, Hermione? What did you tell them?" Dean inquired, trying to grapple her into the conversation.

At first, hearing his voice asking her these questions, she panicked. Would she admit using magic on her parents? Would she say that she didn't tell them anything? Did they die in the war?

Hermione, however, found herself needing to say nothing, as Professor McGonagall began.

"Welcome everybody, back to Hogwarts. I understand that this is not going to be an easy yea, as the school is undergoing re-construction from the war that has just happened. As we can all see, this year our numbers are few, even though I have informed last years students that they are all welcome to re-try the year again. I would like to extend an invitation of sorts from your heads of house to you, that should any of you need someone to talk to about what you're going through, we are all available here to talk.

For the younger years, you are also welcome to talk to your prefects, as I'm sure they won't mind.

I would also like to introduce inter-house mingling, so during breakfast and lunch, you are welcome to move tables but for formalities sake, dinner is to be sat with your house.

Now, let the sorting begin."

They gained nine new Gryffindors, five girls and four boys. Dean cheered for every one of them, as loud as ever, as they joined the table.

As soon as the sorting was over, the food appeared on the tables, and everyone dug into it, hungry from the journey. Neville was then the one to strike up conversation again.

"Is that a head girl badge, Hermione?" He squinted at the badge on her chest.

"Yeah," She grinned properly, for the first time that evening. "Isn't it wonderful?"

Dean and Neville looked impressed, though neither of them looked too surprised. It was something that you would be expecting of Hermione. She was clever, she was nice, she was a good leader. They would be more surprised if she came back with a tattoo, or if she decided not to come back at all.

Hermione caught a silver-blond's eye from across the room. He seemed lonely, no one daring to go near him as he mindlessly pushed the food around his plate, not seeming into anything, though not seeming out of it completely, either, as he gave Hermione a small wave.

"Congratulations!" Dean said to her, hugging her from across the table. Draco's eyes broke away from her. "I knew you would get it. If it was going to be anyone, it would have been you without a doubt."

The confidence and support Dean had for his friends was amazing, Hermione found. She had never really been on the receiving end of his support before, as when he was near, she was being overshadowed by Ron or Harry, as they all shared a room. It was nice, though, knowing someone had your back. Seamus was a lucky man, to have Dean as his best friend.

"Thanks," She beamed. "I think I'm going to introduce myself to the first-years."

She excused herself with a quick smile to the two friends. Making her way to the front of the table, she stood out. She had a few scars on her neck from the cruciatus curse that Bellatrix had used on her, that was peaking out from underneath her robes. Her hands were also littered with light scars. Some blended in, but others, like the carving in her arm of the word ' _mudblood'_ stood out.

A first year with large ears and unruly hair like hers gasped. "You're Hermione Granger, aren't you?" He gasped. The other kids sitting with him also turned their heads.

"Yes." She confirmed for him, sitting down in front of him in a spare seat. "I'm the head girl this year, so I just wanted to tell you that if any of you need any help with anything, or have any issues, you can come and talk to me and I'll do my best to help you."

They nodded, as McGonagall dismissed them to their dormitories. Hermione led the way to the Gryffindor dormitory, and shared the password of _Wiggentree._

"Granger!" Someone shouted at her, from behind the hoard of Gryffindor students. Hermione excused herself, and fought through the crowd to get to the back, as the rest of the Gryffindors, including Dean and Neville, made their way into the common room.

She was greeted by the sight of a tall, pale, blond boy. His cheeks were flushed, like he had been running after her.

"What, Malfoy?" She snapped, wanting to see if she was rooming this year, as she was the only girl from her year group in Gryffindor.

"McGonagall wants to speak to us," He said stiffly. "Now."

"So, I assume you both know that the two of you are Head Boy and Head Girl, for this school year," McGonagall said, pacing the floor of her new office. It was immaculate, unlike the state Dumbledore kept his in. Hermione could see the books very clearly on the shelves. Forks was nowhere to be seen.

"Yes, Professor," Draco and Hermione said in synchronization.

"Well, then you are well aware of the duties you have in this role. And as the castle is undergoing major reconstruction, as I have informed the student body, the room of requirement is no more, so in place of that, the teachers and I have discussed and come to the conclusion that you both need a space for yourselves, where you can gather together, as you are from separate houses, and work around and with the prefects.

You will find it located on the third floor of the main building, in the fourth corridor to the left. I will show it to you now, and explain how you get into the room." Professor McGonagall told them expertly, leading them from her office. Draco held open the door for Hermione to pass through.

Once they got to the sight, they found the corridor empty of paintings, and much light. A musky smell hung around. Hermione could not see many students wanting to wander to this room often, which she thought was genius.

"Now, four steps into the corridor and to the right, you have to knock the amount of syllables your name is, so for Draco you knock twice on this piece of wood, and Hermione you knock four times. The door will show itself to you," McGonagall began to walk away from the pair, before thinking of something else to say to them. "The staff and I hope that the two of you are mature enough to not use the room and the separation to… pursue fellow classmates, if you understand what I'm talking about."

And with that, she disappeared from sight.

"Who does she think I am?" Draco muttered, knocking on the wood twice. As perfectly as McGonagall explained it, the outline of a door made itself present, and Draco pushed, letting the light flood into the corridor.

The first thing Hermione saw was a beige couch, draped over which was a black, fluffy, blanket, and over the wooden floors was a rug of the same shade, though this was much fluffier than the blanket. Hermione felt slightly tempted to go and lie down on the rug, and just sleep her worries away.

Hermione stepped into the common room, soaking in all the paintings and pictures that the previous head boys and girls had left behind. She also saw a lit fireplace in front of the couch, and two desks that were pushed together behind the couch, each with its own parchment sheets, quills and ink pots. There was another door behind the desks.

"Isn't this cozy?" Draco said, almost bitterly. The words dripped from his tongue like ice. "It's almost as though they think we're friends. I hope you know that I'm going to be pushing those desks to opposite ends of the room."

Hermione nodded, not really caring. Her throat seemed to close up a little bit, however, which made her confused. She didn't care about them not being friends. All she wanted was for them to not hate eachother for the sakes of their roles. She didn't necessarily think that they should be friends for the role, though they would be forced to spend some time together.

"I know," Hermione replied as nonchalantly as she could muster.

"I'm going to explore the room. Extinguish the fire when you leave," Draco said, turning around to leave. "I can't imagine I'll use this common room much, though I guess Mudbloods like yourself need somewhere to hide away, and steal more magic."

Hermione held back a flurry of angry words, as Draco stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him, making her jump. Hermione wasn't sure what she had done to anger him. She had been courteous, and as nice as she could be to someone that had seemed to dedicate his life's work thus far to hating people that were different to himself.

Letting her feet lead her, Hermione sat down tentatively on the couch and let the curse words fly out of her mouth, like they had minds of their own. She knew she hadn't stolen anyone's magic, she knew that her wand had chosen her, as Draco's had chosen him. She had as much right to this life as he did, but these things that she knew seemed to shake and his words still offended her none-the-less.

There were days in her first year, when she wished she fitted in somewhere. She was unwanted in the Muggle society because of the strange things she could do, that the other kids couldn't, and she was unwelcomed into the wizarding society because she grew up as a muggle. The only people that she could rely on were her parents, and evidently they were halfway across the globe, and had no clue as to who she was.

Sighing loudly, Hermione ran her hands through her knotted hair, tugging at the strands. No doubt, this made it even more untameable, but she didn't care at the moment.

Hermione sat there for a few moments, not moving an inch as she calmed herself down enough.

"These are dorms. My bags are in one, and I assume those are yours in the other." Draco stuck his head out of the door. He looked almost remorseful that he used that harsh name, earlier. That look wasn't on his face long, before it was wiped clean off, replaced by a sneer. "Why would McGonagall make us share a living space?"

"Because, you useless cockroach, we're supposed to get along, and the closeness is supposed to encourage that." Hermione snapped at him, mouthing off.

Draco took a step backwards, as though not anticipating her words. She could tell they were coming from a mile away, so she was confused as to why he didn't note it.

"Sorry your knickers are in a twist, Granger," Draco sneered, his silvery eyes narrowing into snake-like slits.

Hermione stood up abruptly. "Well… well…" Hermione couldn't think of anything to say. She had had a long day, as her friends didn't wake early enough to see her off, though she doubted any of them were really up for leaving the house much. Her fists curled and clenched, before unclenching. "Ugh!" She stormed off, shouldering past Malfoy, and into the room she assumed was hers. She slammed the door.

She heard him cackle, before heading into his room, too.

This room was red, and had a four-postered king single bed pressed in the corner of the wall that the door was on and the wall to Hermione's right. Next to that was a dressing table, and opposite was a wardrobe with her trunk sitting in front of it.

Hermione's eyelids suddenly felt like they were being weighed down by bricks, and as though her arms and legs had transfigured into bags of sand. Sleep was soon to follow her as she flopped down onto the bed in front of her.

Sweat trickled down the sleeping boy's face, as he tossed and turned in bed. It stuck to his skin like thick glue, making its path to the drenched bedsheets below the agonised boy. Incoherent mumbles came from his mouth, and from time to time cries flung off the end of his tongue as though they had a destination.

The blankets were pooled by the boy's cold feet, moved there by all the kicking and thrashing he was doing amidst his terror.

Sleep left the boy quickly as he bolted to sit upright, the sweat making itself known to his nose.

" _Scourgify."_ The spell was quiet as it removed all the sweat and grime from his skin effectively, only leaving behind the mugginess of the night.

Draco looked around his room, reassuring himself that he was safe at Hogwarts, where he could trust the teachers, and where _she_ would also be safe.

His nightmares had nothing to do with him at all. He wasn't subject to a silver knife that glistened in the wrong light or victim to the Unforgivables, in the nightmare. And it wasn't really even that- it was a memory, though he swore the screams of agony and the pleading that fell from the frizzy-haired witch's lips were deafening.

He had remembered the way that her skinny and, at the time, slightly malnourished body writhed in torment on the floor of his parlour, and the way that her arms were stretched out on either side of her, blood falling in large drops onto the floor from her delicate skin onto the polished floors. The only way for Draco to tell that she was alive when the torture was over, was the way that every now and again tears slipped from her eyes, followed by whimpers.

He didn't know how he would react if he ever saw the scars staining her arms, or what he would do.

Hermione Granger seemed to irk him, even in sleep.

Draco found no reason to go back to sleep, as he knew he would have to rise again not too much later. He grabbed a green towel from the neat stack in his wardrobe, and made a dash to the bathroom, to ponder on his thoughts before having to deal with the girl.

She made him sad in his dreams, yet frustrated in reality. What was it about her that lingered? He hadn't once thought of her through the break, so what was different?

Draco poured shampoo generously into his hands before scrubbing them through his hair violently.

 _That bloody Granger needs go get out of my life._

It wasn't until the bubbles of shampoo dropped to his nose, did Draco notice the brand. He definitely did not use _Lushful Lavender_ scented shampoo, meant to 'tame crazy, frizzy hair'. A loud groan came from his mouth as he washed it out as fast as he could, before taking _his_ shampoo to wash his har.

 _Bloody Granger girl…_


	4. Chapter 4

Draco didn't wait up for Hermione after his shower. He briskly got dressed, magically dried his hair, took his bag and left in, what would seem from the outside, a hurry. Hermione freaking Granger could miss all of her classes for all he cared.

Draco hardly made it three feet in front of the common room, before bumping right into Professor McGonagall.

"Mister Malfoy!" She exclaimed. Her cat-like eyes seemed more worried this morning, and less determined. Her eyebrows were creased, and her mouth was scrunched up unhappily.

"Yes, headmistress?" He replied to her, bored.

"Where is Miss Granger, I need to speak with her immediately." Draco wasn't sure what Hermione had done to force this stick up McGonagall's ass – maybe not returned her holiday homework early, like usual, and McGonagall wanted to check to see if Draco had killed her?- but didn't want to find out.

"She's inside the common room. I think," Draco shrugged non-chalantly, trying to pretend that he wasn't curious as to what the fuss was about. His mind and stomach were whizzing with curiosity.

"Thank you," McGonagall entered the room, without so much as a knock, and closed it firmly behind her before Draco had the chance to say anything.

Part of Draco wanted to be nosy, but the other part of him knew better than to try and sneak up on McGonagall. That woman was not one to be crossed, especially by a Slytherin. Another part of Draco was worried, though he tried to dismiss it. Was Hermione in trouble?

Draco squirmed a little in his shoes, contemplating what to do next, before deciding that he would just question Hermione when she came down for breakfast, or maybe after a class or something.

And with that in mind, Draco strode off to breakfast.

Draco didn't see Hermione for the rest of the day, which he wasn't sure whether to be concerned or rejoicing about. It seemed as though her friends had also noticed her disappearance, as well, as Dean approached Draco later that afternoon to ask of her whereabouts.

"Why would I know?" Draco scoffed at the half-blood.

"The last anyone saw of her was when she went off with you yesterday." Dean replied accusingly. "If you've done anything, Malfoy, I swear…" He let the words hang threateningly in the air.

There was a pregnant pause, before Draco straightened himself taller, looking down a little on Dean. "I don't like what you're implying, Thomas." Draco and Dean were almost chest-to-chest. "She and I share the head boy and girl dormitories, and I haven't seen her either, since last night when we went to bed. Why would I even want to see her?"

He didn't know why he was explaining himself and trying to prove his innocence to Dean, as he didn't give a toss, and making up with the Gryffindors wasn't in his list of top priorities this year.

"McGonagall was looking for her before breakfast, this morning, however," Draco let on, stepping away from Dean. "If there's anyone you want to be speaking to, it's her."

Dean nodded at the new information, before turning on his heel, thanking Draco and leaving.

 _Where the hell was she?_

"Hermione?" Draco stepped into their common room after class tentatively. There was no word from her, even after Dean had asked McGonagall where Hermione was. Draco, albeit careless, wasn't stupid. He had been around enough girls in his lifetime to understand when one needed time alone, and he knew he wasn't meant to intrude if she was, indeed, getting personal space.

"What?" He heard her hiss from inside. Draco took another hesitant step towards the sound, and finally saw her sitting on the floor with her back pressed against the couch, rubbing her eyes.

The common room was uncomfortably warm, Draco thought, and because it was just coming out of summer, he saw no point in the fireplace being on either, but he wasn't about to go and question what she was thinking when she lit it.

"Where the fuck were you today?" The accusing question slipped from his mouth like butter on a hot frying pan.

He could now see her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. Her normally proud shoulders were slumped as she cradled her legs to her chest tightly, as though she were trying to strangle them. The rings around her eyes seemed more prominent under the light of the fireplace, giving the impression that a small child had punched her in the eyes.

"Here." Her answer was brisk. She didn't even turn to face him when she said it.

Draco was a little stunned at how detached she was being. He hadn't done much to anger her since they had arrived, as opposed to previous years. This behaviour was something Draco used to often see after breaks from Pansy Parkinson when he conveniently "forgot" to owl her back. He never expected it from Hermione Granger, the witch who was often positively remarked for keeping the Boy Who Lived alive for a year.

The fire crackled away absently. Draco wasn't sure what to make of the behaviour. Maybe she had a bad night's sleep? But why had McGonagall been looking for her? What was so important to have the elderly witch worried?

"Did McGonagall finally catch onto you stealing other, more worthy, people's magic?" The words maliciously tumbled from his mouth, a sneer re-painting its way onto the pale boy's face. "Did she kick you out? That's got to be the only decent thing that that old hag has ever done for the school. Do you need help packing your dirt? Don't want to be here for much longer so other people don't figure out what you've done."

And then, spoken so softly Draco wasn't sure if the shocking words were meant for his ears, Hermione mumbled, "I wish I didn't have magic."

Draco was taken aback. No smart remark back at him? No nothing? Who was she?

Draco was upset that she didn't fight back, because in a way he thrived off the attention she gave him. She was the only person for him to talk to, other than the first-years who were all scared out of their wits of him, and Dean that morning, though he was convinced it was a one-time thing.

Draco, unsure of what to say at a time like this, just looked at her weirdly, before leaving the room. If Pansy had taught Draco anything, it was to walk away at a time like this, if they weren't friends. So that's exactly what he did.

"Tomorrow? Merlin, that's close!" Draco caught Hermione's voice sound around the common room before dinner.

Light-footed, Draco made his way to the door that connected the corridor where their dorms were and the common room. He pressed his ear up to the door to listen in.

"With the Wizengamot, I would suggest telling them that they are welcome to view your memories of that day and fully explain yourself. Remind them of the situation that you were in, and what danger that put your parents in, as well. Talk to them about your fears of Voldemort's reach, and I will try to be present. You must make your way to the ministry before eleven am tomorrow."

Hermione was going in front of the ministry? Dare he say it, but wasn't the post-Dark Lord Ministry in love with her and her group of friends or something? Why were they putting her on trial?

 _She probably deserved it._

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione replied, sounding more exhausted than Draco ever remembered hearing her sound. "Do I need permission to leave tomorrow morning or…?" Draco could sense the hesitance Hermione had of going to the ministry.

"Consider it granted, Miss Granger," McGonagall's footsteps sounded away from Draco. "Feel free to use the Floo Powder network in my office to Floo yourself to Mr Weasley's office. Him and his wife have been informed of your presentation, because as I understand it they are your caregivers currently?"

"Yes, thank you, Professor."

"No problem, Miss Granger." Draco heard the door to their common room open and then close, a smirk plastering itself victoriously across his face.

Draco decided this would be the moment he would reveal himself to Hermione. What could she say in her defence? The things he heard were pretty damning. He opened the door, and stepped out from where he was hiding. The look on Hermione's face was a strange mixture of scared, tired and anxiety that Draco felt half-bad for what he was about to do.

"So the Ministry _has_ caught onto your magic-stealing. Got sloppy about it, did you?" He saw every word hit her right in the chest, where he wanted those knives buried deeply. "About time, really. I don't understand why they didn't catch onto you sooner, like I did."

Hermione stared deeply into Draco's eyes. She was seated at her desk, that Draco had indeed spent an evening arranging on the opposite side of the room to his, to make sure her _germs_ wouldn't reach him. Her chocolate eyes were pools of sadness, though that passed completely over the top of Draco's head. Various papers were scattered in front of the witch, one on top of the other haphazardly. However, he could see the Ministry's stamp on the corner of each of the sheets.

Hermione cut out her staring, and gathered the papers into her arms. She walked past Draco coolly and wordlessly. Draco could only make out a few words from the papers in her arms such as "memory" and "muggle parents" before Hermione hugged the papers closer to her chest.

"What I'm going to the Ministry for is none of your concern, Malfoy. I have no idea how much of the conversation you over heard, but let me tell you, it's not you think." She scooted past him briskly, her bushy hair tickling the top of his nose as she did so. He was too close to the door that she was trying to get to.

 _What was she hiding?_

Before he got the chance to pester her even more, she slammed the door to her room, the click of a lock following shortly. No doubt that the clever witch had also placed a few charms on her door so that Draco couldn't _Alohomora_ it open.

In the morning, she was gone, before Draco could even open his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

The Wizengamot was definitely scarier to Hermione, now that she was the one being on trial. Faces hooded with dark blue robes stared at her, some whispering loudly over who she was, and with anticipation of what the verdict was going to be. Harry and Ron had tried to come, according to Mr Weasley, but they would have been unable to watch or help in any way, shape or form, as they had personal connections to her, so there was no point.

Hermione wished they had come anyways, to support her before she went in, but understood there would be repercussions on them if they did so. McGonagall was standing behind Hermione, close enough to be able to feel her presence, but far enough away so that it was clear exactly who was on trial.

"Wizengamot in session!" A man sat apart from the others said loudly, his want pointed into his neck. A blanket of silence fell over the dark court room, the paled faces staring at Hermione, as though they were deciding her fate already.

"Are you, indeed, Hermione Jean Granger, Head Girl of Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" The man asked her, his beady eyes looking at her up and down. Hermione grew more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

"Yes." Her reply was short, but the effect her name, the name of the _brains of the Golden Trio,_ resonated throughout the room like a Mexican wave.

"You are being prosecuted for the use of magic against the following muggles. Wendell Wilkins and Monica Wilkins. Do you confirm or deny these statements?"

Hermione looked up at the room of people, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. The floor seemed to sway under her feet a little. People seemed to sit further up on their seats in anticipation.

"I confirm those statements."

The man looked taken aback. "Well, then, Miss Granger, would you care to explain your reasoning to the court?"

Hermione stood forwards more, and set her shoulders back. If she couldn't muster confidence, she would have to fake it. "Both Wendell and Monica Wilkins were my parents, and I am a muggle-born witch. During the recent wizarding war, as I am close to Harry Potter, and am a muggle-born, I feared for both my life and my parent's lives, as I knew that Voldemort would stop at nothing to get to where he wanted to be. I erased my parent's memories of me, and convinced them with an adapted version of a _confundus_ charm that their names were Wendell and Monica and they wanted to move to Australia, so that way, even if the Dark Lord tried to get to them, he would just be wasting time."

"So you're claiming to have done this for the right reasons, for their protection?" One of the elderly ladies at the back asked her loudly.

"Yes. Feel free to use _Legilimency_ on me to confirm." Hermione tried not to seem scared, but she felt her hands shaking beside her.

"That will not be necessary, Miss Granger. The Wizengamot will discuss your fate."

Hermione took that as her cue to leave, and was closely followed out the door by McGonagall.

"Hermione! Look over here please!"

"Miss Granger! Can you tell us why you were called into the ministry?"

Hermione battled with the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly reporters, who were all shoving their cameras and microphones into her face. As briskly as she could, Hermione walked past them, with McGonagall leading the way. Wordlessly, Hermione spotted McGonagall's wand poking out of the sleeves of her robes, and a spell shot out the end, like a beacon of light. Immediately, the reporters were silenced, and were unable to move.

"Move quickly, Miss Granger," The professor said. "Head up the corridor, and onto your left should be a floo powder station. Use it to travel into my office, and I trust you can make your way from there. We should be given the verdict by tonight."

Hermione looked back at Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows furrowed quizzically. "Where are you going?"

"I'll be right behind you." Hermione knew not to ask any further questions, and instead quickly walked her way to the floo network.

The halls of Hogwarts seemed merciful, compared to the reporters, as not many of the students knew about her arrangements that day. They were all going about their business as though nothing had happened, but Hermione knew better than to trust that the school students wouldn't know by the next day all the details of what had gone down.

No doubt, either, that someone in the ministry had blabbed about why she was there, as well.

Shaking her thoughts of tomorrow away, Hermione made her way to the common room she shared with Draco.

Much more time had passed than she had initially thought, as she spotted Draco lounged out in muggle-wear on their couch with a novel in his slender hands. His hair wasn't slicked back anymore, rather it was wet and dangling down in rats tails over his face. Sock-clad feet were sticking up on the other armrest that he wasn't leaning on.

"So how was your trip to the ministry? Come back to get you stuff because you were expelled?" Hermione ignored Draco. Back when she was in primary school, she knew kids like him who picked on her because she was different.

"Hey!" Draco called out to her, slamming his book shut as she walked past him and into her room. "I was talking to you!"

Hermione just closed her door, and wordlessly cast charms on it so it would stay shut. _Couldn't he have even just a little bit of mercy to let her be?_ Hermione thought to herself angrily as she flopped back on her bed, fully dressed. Her hair landed behind her.

"Well, Granger. I guess you didn't want to hop to it," Draco's voice drawled from the door.

"How the hell did you get in?" Hermione sat up, her eyes as deathly as Superman's laser vision.

"You forget that I'm right behind you in school, mudblood. Unlocking a door isn't that hard." He leaned against the doorframe, his tall figure casting a shadow. "And I don't believe you answered my question."

Hermione picked up her wand from her pocket, and pointed it at him, her anger bubbling over the edge. She wasn't in the mood for Draco today. He was insufferable.

His smirk only grew wider. "Hex me, by all means, but remember, mudblood, that the only one you're really hurting with that is yourself."

Hermione's wand didn't waver. "Get out."

"But what if I don't want to?" He sauntered into the room, the arrogance oozing off him as though he were a multi-tiered cake with too much icing in the middle. "I don't have to do what you say. I'm head boy."

"Well, unless it's escaped your notice, I'm head girl, and what I say also goes. So get out. Now." Hermione shouted. "I don't have time for this."

A flash of light left her wand, and landed straight into Draco's chest. The spell knocked him off his feet and backwards a few metres, his back slamming into his own room's door. And with another flick of her wrist, Hermione slammed her bedroom door closed, this time making sure he wouldn't be able to get in.

The day had taken its toll on her, dark eye bags already settling in, and her eyes staying pried open due to the number of things she was stressing herself sick over. Hermione allowed herself to sit at the side of her bed, her wand still clutched into her hand.

"What in Merlin's name was that?" Draco banged on the door. "I'm going to get you back for this, mudblood! Just you wait!"

Hermione didn't reply, only letting herself let go of her wand and run her hands through her tangled, curly locks. A deep breath was exhaled, her pent-up anger and worry leaving her momentarily.

An elephant was sitting on her chest, and a large hammer was hammering into her temple. But Hermione persisted on, and changed into her pyjamas and forced herself asleep while she still had the chance.

Draco had been too cruel with Hermione. He was blind to most people's emotions, but even he could see how tired she was. Her under-eye circles had largened and darkened significantly, and she was walking as though she were half-asleep. He knew it by the way her voice cracked when she was yelling at him.

She was good at spells, though. Draco would let her have that. She could win a duel in her sleep, which she proved to Millicent Bulstrode in their second year when Millicent got salty over Hermione winning, and turned it into a physical fight.

His chest ached from the force that had come out of the tip of her wand, though Draco knew she could do it almost as easily without her wand. Rubbing the sore area, Draco clambered to his feet.

Anger swelled through his vision. Who did she think she was, treating him like that? Draco let her know exactly how he felt towards her when he banged on the door and yelled, before making his way back to his own room.

"Dammit, Granger," Draco cursed at her, as he inspected the area. A bruise was beginning to form. He rolled his eyes like it was his life's work, and lay back on his bed.

Draco didn't understand muggle-borns. He didn't know where they got their magic from. He knew that Hermione couldn't steal it, as it wasn't an object and the magic was inside the witch or wizard. A wand to a muggle would be like a stick of wood. It wouldn't preform magic for them, no matter what hex they decided to use. Draco wasn't stupid, and knew that his father was wrong about them.

Draco hadn't figured out exactly _what_ he was meant to think about her, and about her bloodlines. All he was raised to do was care about a person's heritage, and what percentage wizard was he or she. She… confused him. With her capability, but her parent's wizarding incapability, it just didn't make sense. It was like trying to give Draco two plus two to make five. It just wasn't happening.

He turned onto his side, not feeling like going back out to face the music. Instead, like the girl in the room across from his, he let himself fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione scrubbed her hands through her hair over and over viciously. The lavender scent hit her nose, but she kept going until the bubbles were sliding down her back in waves, following the curls to where they ended, and kept going, each movement of her hands through her hair making more and more bubbles. _It all needed to go._

It was like someone had dipped her head-first into a puddle of mud. She felt dirty, no matter how many times she cleaned her hair or scrubbed her skin pink. The verdict had come in via owl.

 _This Wizengamot finds Hermione Jean Granger, age 18, guilty of all charges accused of. The Wizengamot finds the defendant unworthy of Azkaban, but is instead offered 31 days to reverse the magic used on Monica and Wendell Wilkins successfully. The Wizengamot recognises that these are the defendant's parents and that the actions taken were that of defence and protection._

Steam rose from the shower, filling the room with mist. It curled around the sink, holding it, and covered the mirror.

 _How was she meant to find her parents in Australia and restore their memories in under a month?_

Sitting on the floor of the shower, Hermione let herself think. When she had performed the spell on her parents, she hadn't realised she would be walking out of the war alive, let alone her and her parents. The things she had seen happen to muggle-born's parents in the prophet frightened her, no matter how many times Ron and Ginny had owled her, telling her the order would help her. She knew that if it came down to it, the order would have to stop defending her parents to defend themselves. She didn't know what had frightened her more. The concept of her parents never recognising her again, or her parents being dead.

Hermione limply turned off the tap, and with newly scrubbed, bright pink skin, she exited the bathroom and got changed, but still feeling as muddy as Draco had told her her bloodline was.

Draco stared at the newspaper in front of him in disbelief, the paper shaking in his hands. The moving pictures confirmed the newspaper article's suspicions and cleared up any doubt that Draco may have had that his father was behind it.

 _Just when the world thinks that we are safe from the Dark Lord's reign, and back to our day-to-day lives, a break-in at Azkaban Prison puts the Ministry of Magic under the fire of the public, yet again._

 _Surveillance confirms suspicion of the last Death Eater, whom managed to escape from the war practically unharmed, breaking into the prison late last night, and breaking out one of his fellow Death Eaters, informally known as Yaxley. No one has spotted the pair since the break out was reported by one of the guards on duty, however it is suspected that they are on the run._

 _Ministry officials have been sent to Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry to interview Malfoy's son, Draco, who was also a part of the followers of the Dark Lord, to find his father's whereabouts. Another band of officials are being sent to Malfoy manor to inspect the mansion for any clues and also to interview the mother of Draco, Narcissa Malfoy._

 _A nationwide search has begun for the two wanted criminals. If you have any evidence or any knowledge that might be of help, see Gawain Robards, Head of the Aurors Office, or send an owl._

 _(Mugshots included to the side.)_

"How dare he?" Draco spat out under his breath. "We're under enough fire as it is."

The paper was being scrunched under Draco's hands, which were curling into fists very fast. The hammering of the shower water against the floor of the bathroom stopped. A blanket of silence filled the dorms like ice.

Fiery eyes followed an oblivious girl from the bathroom into her room. Her mind seemed apart from her body as she made her way to her room at the pace of a snail. Draco didn't pay much mind to it, however, turning his gaze back to the paper.

Oh like hell those officials were going to try and accuse him of something else.

He'd like to see them try.

"Miss Granger! A word, if you will?" Professor McGonagall called out to Hermione as class was ending. She knew it was coming.

"Yes, professor?" Hermione answered, her eyes nervously watching people slowly leave the room. It was as though they slowed down on purpose.

"You have the verdict?" She said under her breath to Hermione, tilting her head inwards slightly so that the other students wouldn't hear her.

"Guilty. I have to find a way to find them and reverse it in 31 days," Hermione's exhaustion was evident, though her voice appeared strong.

McGonagall took a second to ponder upon this information. Hermione waited anxiously for what she was going to say. Time was passing like honey off the end of a spoon, which went to say stickily slowly.

"I have a proposition, but you're not going to like it." Hermione, at this point in time, was willing to try anything. Desperation was choking her like an iron fist around her neck. Her heart pounded faster at what McGonagall was going to say. She had tried coming up with things off the top of her head that might work, but still felt the urge to check her suspicions of the spell in the Library.

"I'll try anything." Hermione felt guilty of ridding herself of her parents. Who did she do it for? Herself or them? And were they hurting? She didn't know, and it killed her inside.

"Mister Malfoy is well-trained in memory charms and locks."

Darkness had fallen upon the castle, the forbidden forest no longer visible from the castle walls. The sun had fallen, and the moon had arose. The coldness of the winter was beginning to set in for the fall. Not yet cold enough to begin bundling up, but cold enough to feel it on your skin, like a breeze, but constant. The pitter patter of the first year's feet upon the cement floors echoed as they scurried to make curfew.

Hermione wasn't too bothered about curfew. She was on patrol duty around the castle. Before she could really start, she needed to drop off her library books to her room, the books piling almost over her head. _Memory Charms with Gilderoy Lockheart_ was not in the mix, thankfully. All of his books had almost been banned since it leaked that he wasn't really the heroine in the stories and tales he told.

"You know that you can just levitate them, right?" Neville's voice broke out from behind Hermione as she began struggling up the stairs to her room.

Her books almost fell as she turned, eyes wide with alarm.

Neville walked quick-paced towards her, picking up the top few books and examining the covers. "Memory charms, huh?"

"Yeah," Hermione quickly thought. "They sounded interesting to me when Professor Flitwick brought them up today, so I thought I could do some light reading on them."

Neville's eyes widened. "I'd hate to see what you call heavy reading. Do you want some help carrying these back to your common room?"

"Please." The relief was evident on the young Witch's face. "I'm on patrol in a few minutes, so I have to be quick." Neville nodded as he carried a few more books.

As they reached the third floor, Hermione spoke up again. "I can take them from here. We're not really allowed other people in our common room."

Neville nodded in understanding. "I'll see you in the morning, then?"

Hermione nodded, leaning down a little to let Neville put the books back into her arms. She was going to do this without Malfoy's help. She could show McGonagall that she could be just as capable.

Neville walked away, and Hermione attempted to waddle to the common room in silence, her footsteps echoing off the walls.

Hermione thought to herself for a moment. _What if McGonagall was right? Do I need Malfoy's help?_

No, she was going to do it herself, and show McGonagall that she could. _I don't need a pureblood's help._

Draco was seeing red, as he entered the common room, slamming the door loudly behind him, waking the sleeping witch on the floor.

"Wake the hell up!" He yelled at her, pushing her shoulders angrily.

"What?" She groaned, her hands setting on her wand securely. She was surrounded by books, school books and otherwise.

"Where the hell were you? I had to do patrol on my own! Do you know how much crap I had to put up with because you weren't there?" His vociferating voice seemed louder to her than it probably did to him. His feet were still aching from wandering the dungeon on his own.

"Crap!" Hermione shot up like a bullet. "I forgot."

"Yeah," Draco spat, "I think I noticed that!" He looked down on her with steely eyes, towering over her.

"Sorry," She said sincerely, getting out of the chair and meeting his eye. She returned the glare. "Shouldn't you be happy your air won't be contaminated by a _mudblood?"_

For some odd reason, Draco felt like telling her off for calling herself that, but fought back the urge. Instead, he huffed and stormed over to his room, his eyes still fixed into a glower. He slammed the door behind him with a _bang._

"Stupid Granger," He muttered under his breath, pacing the room and tapping his wand on his leg.

That night seemed particularly bad for patrol. Many of the students were out of bed, wandering the halls and Draco had to take up the dungeons by himself. The lingering Slytherin students were waiting to get their hands on him. It was like they knew that he was going to be on patrol and caused as much trouble as they could.

Draco knew that he had lost the school's respect during the war, and lost all of his friends consequently. But when your parents are on one side and you've taken the dark mark, there's no turning back. Unless you want to end up dead, that is.

Regulus Black had done it, and see where it got him at Draco's age.

The morning's paper winked at him from where he was standing.

 _ **Hermione Granger, spotted in the ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.**_

 _ **Miss Granger, close friend to Harry Potter was spotted last night at the Ministry of Magic, around 11am. Miss Granger refused to answer all questions and was hurried away by none other than her Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.**_

 _ **Why was she at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? More on pg 3.**_

Well this was certainly interesting.


	7. Chapter 7

McGonagall stared at the young, fiercely stubborn, girl in front of her. She had an aura of determination and pride, things McGonagall knew were dangerous things to have but if used in the right way, could mean the difference between failure and success.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall begun, hating the words that were about to fall from her mouth. She wanted to see this young witch grow up and be so much more than a soul in Azkaban. "It's the third day, already. If you don't ask for Mister Malfoy's help soon, I'm going to have to take it upon myself."

She saw the hesitation in Hermione's eyes, and she understood why. Draco Malfoy wasn't an easy person to strike a deal with. Making him head boy, McGonagall wished to see him have a chance that he would never have gotten had he not been head boy. His life was heading downhill very fast, and he needed the position more than many others. Though, it wasn't solely based on pity. He had potential. Dumbledore had seen it, as had she.

"I know this isn't easy, Miss Granger, I'm just trying to do the best I can. Okay?" McGonagall's pleads fell onto deaf ears. "I expect you to show up at the meeting I'm going to set up for tomorrow, after class, with you and Mister Malfoy."

Hermione made her stance clear. She was not asking for any help. As her teacher, and stand-in mother, McGonagall had taken the responsibility upon herself to do so on behalf of her.

"Why was I called in here? I turned in my assignment early, I've been making patrol, I haven't done anything bad!" _At least not recently._

Draco stood in McGonagall's office, pleading innocence to her. He needed this chance at school. It was pretty much all he had left.

"You're not in trouble, Mister Malfoy," She replied, right as Hermione stepped into the office, a look of dread on her face. She looked like she normally did, like she just woke up and something with wings was nesting in her hair.

"Then why am I here?" Draco asked, raising a blonde eyebrow in question.

"I thought I said I didn't want his help," Hermione practically spat, losing her calm demeanour.

"It's been almost a week, Miss Granger. You need it." With McGonagall's words, Hermione slumped onto one of the chairs. "Now, would you like to explain, or should I?"

"I'll do it." Hermione said begrudgingly, though didn't seem to continue to explain.

"Well, Granger?" Draco said to her, still extremely confused. "Why am I here?"

"You've got to help me bring back my parent's memories of me."

"So, your parents have no idea of who you are anymore, and you decide to come to me for help, why?" Draco pestered her on their way back to the common room. "Why the fuck don't you ask Saint Potter or Weaselby?" Hermione remained stoic, despite the insults he had thrown at her friends.

"Because they don't know this kind of magic like you do, apparently. And I'd rather keep them out of this." Hermione's pace hastened.

"What kind of magic do you mean?" _Dark magic? Legilimency? Occlumency?_

"I used a version of a _confundus_ charm and _obliviate_ to convince them that they didn't have a daughter, that I was a stranger, and that their life dreams were to move to Australia, which they did a week later." Hermione explained. "I have no idea how to get their memories back. The Ministry, as you know, called me in for using magic on muggles. I have another twenty-three days until I get a short sentence in Azkaban for using magic on them, if I don't reverse the spell."

Draco scoffed as they reached their common room, letting Hermione put in her password for the door. "Wow. Who'd have thought that the great Hermione Granger would be capable of disobeying the laws."

"Actually, I've broken quite a few school rules and laws." Hermione said nonchalantly as the door to their common room opened.

"So why should I help you?" Draco said to Hermione, reclining on their couch.

"Because McGonagall said to." She replied, pushing his feet off the couch and sitting down next to him.

"But you don't want me to."

"No. I think I am capable of doing it by myself." Hermione was firm in her belief. She didn't need anyone's help, and certainly not Draco Malfoy's.

Draco scoffed at her thinking. "You need my help. Trust me." A smirk grew over his face.

"Why is that?" Hermione asked him.

"Because the spell that you used is unique and you can't find it in any book. You have to talk to witches and wizards who've done the same things themselves. Also, I became very skilled in Legilimency when my family worked with Vol-"

"Please don't say his name." Hermione stiffened. She saw Draco seem almost sorrowful at her reaction to the word.

"Okay." Draco said. "I'll help you on one condition."

Hermione sighed. She knew this was coming. He was a Slytherin after all. What more could she expect?

"What?"

"You have to forget everything you know about me, because half the things we have to do, you'll never have seen before and will hopefully never see again."

This time, Draco forgot to do his patrol. He fell asleep trying to think of ways to help Hermione. Waking up groggily, he looked around him at the books. The library wasn't the best place to sleep.

 _Stupid Granger,_ Draco thought. _Why am I even helping her?_

But Draco knew exactly why he was helping her. It was his family that was part of the reason she had to obliviate her parent's memories of her. Anything he could do to reverse the damage, he was all ears to.

It didn't hurt that it was just her this year at school. Draco quite liked a Harry-Potter-Free environment. That boy was too disruptive for his own good. Just his name caused a great deal of trouble once upon a time.

Draco brushed off his memories of Harry from the war. Especially the ones of him being dead. He didn't have time for mourning over what he did, however much he regretted it.

He quickly put the books away, briskly making his way back to the common room. Hermione wasn't waiting for him when he got back. She had gone off without him. Her room door was open, and the bathroom and common room was empty.

Well, she owed him one anyways.

She didn't seem to have seen the article in The Daily Prophet about his father breaking loose from Azkaban. He didn't want her to see it. She would think otherwise about him helping her (more than she already did) and would hand him straight into the ministry, no doubt.

Something else was stopping him from telling her willingly, or wanting her to see the paper. Something in his heart. He didn't want her to think he was a bad person, because of all the things his father had done and was no doubt going to continue to do.

A few people had begun to be pushier with him at school, clearly having read it before, but that was nothing he couldn't handle. He had done it to them before. It was his turn. The thing he couldn't bear was that she lived with him, and if she hated him any more than she already did, she might combust. (Or she might kill him. Either or.)

Draco collapsed on the couch in front of the fire, wordlessly shooting a spell to start it as he did. Hermione was going to finish patrolling soon, and would be back.

He had been brainstorming about the different things that they would need to do. First thing was to figure out exactly what had been done to her parents, because for them to be able to reverse it, they would have to know what it was.

He came up with a list of things that they needed to ask themselves to figure out what it was.

1\. Can they remember anything about her at all? Hair colour? Name? Age? That she was their daughter? Something magical even?

2\. If not, do they remember anything from their old life with Hermione?

3\. And if none of the above, she had probably _obliviated_ them more than she had _confounded_ them.

And from there, he would be able to figure out what to do.

Memory charms were tricky. Especially when you were learning from your mother in the basement over the summer holidays, and were trying to conceal secrets from the Dark Lord.

 _"Now, Draco. I need you to think of something. And I want you to try block me out. Am I clear?" Narcissa Malfoy was not clear at all, though Draco nodded his head. She was the best in the family at occlumency._

 _Draco thought of Hogwarts. Was he going to go back?_

 _"You chose Hogwarts?" Draco nodded. "That's too easy. I didn't even have to use_ legilimency _on you for it to work. Think of something different."_

 _At first, Draco had no idea on what to think about. He couldn't think about Hogwarts, Quidditch, Pansy Parkinson, Goyle, Blaise or Crabbe. They were all too obvious. So instead he thought about Hermine Granger. About her bushy, honey coloured hair. About her mundane brown eyes, that even as children held an intensity to them. About her perfume, and how his_ amortentia _in 6_ _th_ _year smelt like it._

 _His mother would never guess. He never wanted her to know that the thing that came to mind was a_ mudblood. _A filthy, good-for-nothing_ mudblood _._

Hermione strolled into the room carelessly. Her shift on duty had been relatively easy, despite Draco being absent. When she entered, Draco was still on the couch, seemingly lost in thought. He was sitting normally on it, for once, and clutched in his hands so hard it wrinkled slightly was a piece of parchment.

It still irritated her that McGonagall told him about her parents. Though, she knew it was for the better anyways.

He had up and left during their last conversation, right after he had said very vaguely to her "You have to forget everything you know about me, because half the things we have to do, you'll never have seen before and will hopefully never see again."

"Granger." Draco's smirk widened on his face (if it were even possible). "I need to ask a few questions regarding your little predicament."

Hermione felt the weight of her tiredness fall onto her shoulders all at once. The last thing she needed was even more of a reminder.

"What?" She snapped.

"I've figured a few things out to narrow down what you've done to your poor parents, so that we can figure out how to un-do it." Draco was being surprisingly helpful, though Hermione thought he would have his own motives to be.

"What have you figured out? Cut to it! I want to go to sleep!" Hermione said, sitting next to him on the couch and looking at the parchment.

She read over his notes.

"I think they still have Crookshanks," Hermione said.

"What's that?" Draco asked.

"My cat. I didn't bring him with me when we went Horcrux hunting. I left him with my parents." Hermione replied. Her heart ached. _Did they still have him?_

"Well, we have to find out if they have him and work from there." Draco stretched his long limbs out, finding a click here and there in them. "I'll think of some names of people we can ask about these charms. I don't have all the knowledge in the world. I'll get back to you in the morning."

Dear Merlin, _Draco knew about the bloody cat._

Weasel-King never shut up about it during their third year. Not that he was listening, of course. Well, maybe a little. But what Weasel-King would have hated more than the fact that Hermione's cat hated him, was the fact that when it was roaming the castle by itself, it had stumbled upon Draco, and took a liking to him.

Not that Draco particularly cared about it. Or her. No. Definitely not her.

Every time Draco saw the cat, it would stroll right up next to him as though they were best buds and as though Draco were it's owner, even though the pretty Gryffindor was sitting on the other side of the dining hall. He was just glad that she was too busy talking to Saint Potter and Weasel to see her cat snagging tuna off Draco's plate.

He had noticed their absence this year, as he did the last. They didn't have to go to school to redeem their families' names. If anything, it meant that their reputation was going up. Everyone seemed to hate Hogwarts now for the lack of protection it had offered the students after Dumbledore's death.

No. _You are not going to think about that again, Draco. It is not your fault. You didn't kill him._

Draco leaned back in his bead, his light hair hitting the pillow, casting a silvery shadow around his head. Sleep needed to come and take him away before his thoughts did.

He crawled into the sheets like a toddler retreating into their mother's arms. Sleep came like a charm.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione didn't know what to do with herself. She could hear Draco thrashing around in his sleep. She felt weird, like something wasn't settling in her chest, when she heard him thrashing about. Maybe it was because she was used to him being a coward, but had never seen him as particularly weak or vulnerable.

Vulnerability never made a difference in her eyes, on whether or not she cared what they thought of her, or the way that she acted towards them. She punched him right on the arch of his nose in third year, for Merlin's sake. He certainly wasn't vulnerable then, when he was making fun of the fact that an innocent life was going to be taken.

Hearing him suffer from the same things as she did felt weird. Because they had never seen each other as equals at anything before. He thought he was mightier because of his bloodline, and she thought she was more superior because of the wits she bared. Though, she had fought hard for her spot as the best, him coming a close second or third.

"Draco?" She knocked softly on his door, scared to intrude. She pushed open the door easily, casting a silent _alohomora_ right before she did. He was twisted up in his green sheets, his pale skin contrasting easily. His forehead was creased as he cried out, writhing in the sheets as though he were in pain.

"Draco," She repeated more forcefully, moving closer to the boy. "Draco, wake up."

He groaned, turning onto his back, but his eyes not opening.

Hermione sighed, and pushed his shoulder. "Draco, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

This time, his eyes flew wide open, and his hand flung over to hers, gripping it tightly. He was clinging onto her wrist so tightly that she could feel the circulation slowing. His neck was tensed up, along with his shoulders and chest, the muscles sticking out painfully. His eyes were red and alert, looking at her with such a scared intensity that she felt wrong staring into them.

Recognising her face, he relaxed.

"What are you doing in here?" He shoved her hand off him forcefully. Hermione stumbled.

"I heard you moving around a lot in your sleep. It looked like you were having a nightmare." Hermione tried to sound innocent in her acts. She knew she was, but she could never be too sure of what Draco was going to accuse her of next, so she thought it'd be best if she played it safe.

"But why did you come into my room and wake me? I never said you could come in here."

"Sorry," Hermione bit out. "I was just trying to help you."

"I don't need your help." Draco looked away from her, bringing the blankets further up his body and rolling to the side. His back faced her. "Leave."

So she did, a scowl set on her face.

 _Ungrateful little ferret._

Draco knew she was only trying to help him.

He didn't want to seem like the weak coward he once was, and especially not to her. He didn't want to make it look like he had daddy issues, or that he was still struggling underneath someone else. He didn't want the strong, free, and incredibly intelligent Gryffindor sleeping in the room across from him to know about his struggle. Because unlike hers, it was his to fight.

He rolled onto his back again. He could hear her moving around in the room across from his. Shuffling papers, moving things. He didn't like the way that he had treated her. But he couldn't help himself. It became second nature after a while.

Feelings made him weak. If being a death eater taught him anything, it was that. He had seen more death than he had ever felt ready for. Though, he supposed, no one is really ready to see death. But seeing a teacher of your high school killed on your dining room table, and then a pet snake eat her remains. Now that is what some people might call _scarring._ And Hermione Granger didn't need to know that.

His mother had tried to teach him other things were possible, before his father got to his head. Little did she know, he already had. It had been brought up in him from a young age that anyone that wasn't of pure blood and from a wealthy family wasn't worth your time.

Draco, no matter how determined he was to get rid of everything his father was trying to teach him, kept resorting back to the old, cowardly him.

 _I am not a good person,_ he thought to himself, _and I can't let her mistake me for one._

Because if she mistakes him for a good person, she might think that he'll be at her aide again and again. And he knew that he never could be.

Hermione Granger didn't know what to think when Draco came up to her the next day in the middle of lunch.

She was minding her own business, eating her sandwich with her friends. Neville was laughing about Dean's ranting about _how bloody rude Seamus was for sending a howler in the middle of the night, about how Dean never owls him back._ Needless to say, Dean was sending an owl or two back about that.

Hermione laughed with Dean.

Hermione didn't think anything could be the matter, until Neville sobered up from his laughing fit quicker than a tick. His eyes narrowed on a figure coming up behind Hermione.

"What's Malfoy doing, coming over 'ere?" He questioned to Hermione. Before she could answer, or even turn around, she felt his lips press against her ear.

"Hogsmeade, midnight. McGonagall knows." And then he walked away as quickly as he came, as though he didn't just practically make out with her ear.

Midnight rolled around, and Hermione Granger strolled through the abandoned, dark streets of Hogsmeade alone. The warmth from the summer was beginning to fade, and the cold of the autumn was setting in. Hermione was bundled in a warm jumper and jeans. Brown leaves rolled around the floor, rustling with the wind. The shops were all closed, no light being leaked into the street.

She'd been there since half to, wondering where the heck Malfoy was.

It had been fairly easy for her to slip into the outer town, McGonagall and Filch being somewhere else in the castle.

"Granger! What are you doing outside!" Draco Malfoy's white blond head poked out of the Hogs Head, his cheeks flushed a bit. "We've been waiting for you! Get a move on. We don't have all night."

Hermione was slightly suspicious of the _we_ he was talking about.

She followed him into the warm room of the Hogs Head. People were drinking at the bar, cramming into the small tables. She could feel eyes following her in as she followed the ex-death eater into another room, away from prying eyes.

A man sat on a chair by the hearth, which was cracking away in the background. Hermione recognised him as soon as she stepped foot in the door. Greying hair sat atop the man's head, sparsely growing amongst the black strands. His face resembled that of his late child's did. Crabbe Senior sneered at her as she walked in.

"Crabbe, this is Her-" Draco began, walking confidently in front of Hermione, who's feet were glued to the spot in front of the now closed door.

"I know who she is." The whisper of words was almost too fast for Hermione to comprehend. "I know why you asked me here, boy."

"Then you'll know why we need your help." Draco said, glancing back at Hermione. He seemed almost… comforting. She didn't think she'd seen it right.

"I can't help you, Draco. You know this." Crabbe Senior said, standing up. He shook a little with the effort. How long had he been staying here?

Hermione had seen the wanted ads in the Daily Prophet. She knew he had escaped Azkaban, and he was wanted back.

"I know."

"Well then why are we here, Draco?" Hermione snapped at him, causing him to turn his head and look at her warningly, as though she needed to be silent for anything to happen to their benefit.

"Because you know where someone that can help us is. Don't you Crabbe?"

The man looked down to the floor in shame. It was clear to see that he didn't want to help them, but something was keeping him here.

"Yes." The man whispered, his demeanour changing entirely. He seemed frail, and weak. Things that were unlikely of a death eater.

"Where is she?" Draco seemed almost tender when talking to the man. Hermione found it strange. She had almost never seen him like this. Almost.

"You'll find her in the most obvious place."

The vaguest sentence seemed to make all the sense to Draco, and none to Hermione.

"Thank you." Draco grabbed onto Hermione's forearm as he turned towards the door, and away from Crabbe Senior.

"Boy!" Draco's head snapped back towards the other death eater, who was looking at him maliciously. "Your father will not be pleased about what you're doing."

"My father deserves to be in Azkaban, along with you."

Their mood swings were confusing to Hermione. They knew each other well, of course. She knew that Crabbe Junior was Draco's friend, and it hurt him when he died in the battle of Hogwarts. She knew that they probably bonded over that. But the fact that they kept going back and forth with each other was tiring to Hermione to keep up with.

Crabbe Senior's eyes widened at what Draco had said to him, but before he could say anything more, Draco was dragging Hermione out of the room.

"What the hell was that about?" Hermione snapped, as they walked their way back to school. Draco's grip on her forearm never ceased. He dragged her along behind him, her feet struggling to keep up.

"I know who we need to talk to next," Draco said to her, stopping abruptly and grabbing her other forearm.

"Yeah, I got that!" Hermione exclaimed. "Who is it?"

Draco looked at her sceptically, his grey eyes sweeping over her, assessing her of sorts.

"My mother."


	9. Chapter 9

Draco Malfoy knew how to do many things. And talking like a normal person to his parents wasn't one of them.

After sending him off to Hogwarts for the year, his mother had gone AWOL. She hadn't replied to any of his letters, other than the odd few. The ministry was unable to get a hold of her, either. Her wand was found, snapped in half, in front of the manor.

Draco knew it had been because of his father. He was going to be recruiting again for an army, and there was no way that someone could conduct a dark army without having the ins and outs of memory charms. And the key to those was his mother.

Draco's purpose to going to Crabbe Senior was so he didn't have to go crawling to his mother all of a sudden. He didn't need her to tell him what's what. She didn't need him to do the same. She loved him, but they both knew that he needed time to deal with the war.

It wasn't that Draco was for Voldemort. He just wasn't fully against him either. Who could be, when both of your parents raised you to act the same way as _him._ To have the same thoughts, feelings, needs as _him._ And when you had parents that were on the same side of _him._

He knew exactly where she would be.

The Manor.

It was painfully obvious, but he would have thought with his father on the run, she would try and go somewhere else. Clearly not. She was hiding in plain sight again. Voldemort was different, because he lived in their house, and he didn't care about her whereabouts. His father gave a damn, and wouldn't stop until he had her, or unless she was dead.

That would never happen, though. As much as Draco and his mother needed time apart, he would never let anything of the sort happen to his mother.

"Draco!" Someone yelled out. "Malfoy! Wait!"

Draco's footsteps stilled on the grass.

One of his old teammates from Quidditch was running across the pitch to him. Quidditch pitches were wonderful places to think when you had too much on your mind. Quiet, unless there was a practice or game, and no one thought to hang out there for fun. It being outdoors was an bonus.

"What?" Draco asked, folding his arms across his chest. He felt his wand hum with magic in his pocket.

"Are you interested in being the seeker for the new season? It's about to kick off again for the year, and I want to know if I need to be looking for a seeker elsewhere."

"I'll play." Any sense of normality that he could gather from his previous life would be nice.

"And Slughorn wants to know if you'll be captain, too."

Draco was stunned into silence for a few seconds. He was already head boy, and now captain of the quidditch team? He found himself nodding mindlessly. "I'll do it."

The boy smiled. "See you at trials on Tuesday? 4pm on the pitch?"

"See you then," Draco said to him, as the boy turned on his heel and marched away.

New leadership roles couldn't be anything but good for his reputation, right?

"So when are we going to see your mum?" Hermione quizzed him when he stepped into their common room. "Because I only have a little under three weeks before I'm jailed."

He looked at her frizzier than normal hair, and the circles under her eyes, and decided it wasn't worth the fight.

"Whenever I think that we should," Draco replied hastily, trying to step past her into the corridor that held their rooms. She was quick to stand in his way.

"Draco! We have to go soon." Hermione almost shouted. "I don't even know what the cure is for them! Are you even tryi-"

"Can you shut up?" Draco bursts out at her, making her step back a little. "I'm trying in the best way I know how, and if you're not satisfied, feel free to find someone else to help your lost cause."

Draco was in his right mind to do it, to let her go on her own and mind his own bloody business for once in his life, and keep away from the _sacred, golden trio._ They had done nothing but cause trouble for him since he was a child. But he needed this. He needed her to help redeem him and hos mother, who was ironically the key to this stupid equation.

Hermione stepped forwards and shoved Draco back, her hands hitting his chest as she did. "Don't threaten me!" Her eyes were tall glasses of fury. "Don't you even dare, Malfoy!"

Draco scoffed, and shoved her to the side. He was taller than her now, so it wasn't like third year. Though, he figured she would still punch him in the jaw if he pushed any more of her buttons.

"I'll talk about this in the morning. Not now." Draco tried to move towards the corridor, but a quick tug to his sleeve and a spell kept him in his spot. "A foot-locking jinx. How mature." Draco drawled, cocking his head to the side and looking at the witch.

Hermione breathed in, as though she were about to say something, her mouth wide open. But before any words could come out, they were both startled by a loud tap on the window.

A pitch-black owl was tapping at the window, trying to get in. Draco wordlessly un-did the jinx, recognising the bird immediately. It was the bird his father used to use to talk to Draco and send him instructions about the Dark Lord through. Draco let the bird in, his eyes never leaving it.

The bird dropped a newspaper on the floor and swept out of the room through the way it came, the only evidence of it's presence being the paper on the floor.

 ** _Ex-Death Eater Murdered._**

 _Crabbe Senior was an ex-member of the band of Death-Eaters who backed the late Lord Voldemort in his ruthless, violent search for power over the magical world. His body was found early this morning, the killing curse being apparent in his murder._

 _It is believed that another old friend, Lucius Malfoy is responsible for his death. The reasons are unknown, for now, however many people's suspicions are being raised. Draco Malfoy continue to work as Head Boy of Hogwarts School For Witchcraft and Wizardry. How safe do you feel sending your children into his hands?_

A scrawled note was attached to the newspaper article. Draco ripped it off before the prying eyes of the Gryffindor Princess could read it.

"How is this possible? Isn't your father in…" Hermione's sentence trailed off. Her eyes filled with rage. "Why wouldn't you tell me that your father is on the loose?"

Draco didn't answer her, only discreetly snuck the note into his back pocket, and walked dutifully back to his room.

His only thoughts were on the note, and his mother. He couldn't contact his mother, or she would know what he's doing and it could be intercepted by his father. But he needed to contact her, for Hermione's sake, and for his reputation's sake.

Draco slammed his door shut, loud enough so that Granger would know that he wasn't to be disturbed. But just for safety's measure, he put locks on the door.

The handwriting on the note was pressed firmly into the paper, the quill clearly having been used a bit too heavy-handedly. The cursive handwriting remained the same, however.

 _Draco,_

 _I trust that you know by now what my intentions are by killing Crabbe Senior. He refused to help me serve the Dark Lord's cause. I did what was necessary. I want you to find a way for me to get into Hogwarts. A few things need to change around there, in order for me to be able to start creating the change for the better. I need to start with that Mudblood that you share the title of head with._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Your father._

Fuck.

"And can anybody tell me the properties of the wolfbane potion?" Slughorn droned on, boring Draco half to death. He wasn't as good of a potions teacher as Draco found Snape to be, but he would do for the time being. Draco would be lying if he said that he wasn't upset he didn't get into the "Slug Club".

He remembered the Christmas Party during their sixth year, when Slughorn first came into the school. He remembered hearing that Hermione had agreed to go with the slimeball, McLaggen, and he remembered being angry for some reason. He snuck in to see how good of a party it was, and then got caught when he saw her in the red, Christmassy dress.

Not that she looked good in red.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Slughorn called on the Gryffindor, who's hand had shot up like a rocket.

"The wolfbane potion is used to subdue a werewolf's violent tendencies during a full moon. You see, during a full moon…" Hermione droned on about it all. Draco was willing to bet his entire inheritance that she had memorised the textbook already. Her lips kept moving, though Draco was sure that he had stopped listening to everything both Slughorn and Hermione were saying a long time ago.

"Turn to page two hundred and one in your textbooks, please."

Draco mindlessly flipped to the page in his textbook, lazily skimming over the ingredients needed. He didn't understand their complete need to learn all of these potions, though he supposed it was his own stupid fault for choosing potions as a subject.

He heard babble and chatter coming from the mouths of people at surrounding tables. None from his. No one wanted to sit with the ex-Death Eater. He didn't mind so much, though. It meant he could get through the year without distractions.

"You know, 'Mione, I'd have thought that you and Ron would be together." Dean Thomas' jabber reached Draco's ears as the loudest. That boy couldn't quieten down if he was given a volume button.

"It wasn't the right time." Draco bad to stop himself from scoffing as he got his ingredients together. She could tell herself that as much as she wanted, but the likeliness of her and the weasel getting together after she finishes school, or whenever the "right time" is, is very small. But hey, who was Draco to stop her if she wanted to wait on someone who couldn't emotionally commit to her. Or physically. Or just commit in general.

"He never shut up about you, you know. When we were all up and talking and whatnot, he kept talking about you. Granted ninety percent of the time, it was complaints. " Dean put on a high-pitched voice, " _Bloody hell, why won't Hermione write my essay for me? Her bloody cat scratched me again. Hermione's bloody hair gets everywhere!"_

Draco didn't notice his grip on the mixer getting tighter, as he threw in more of the ingredients. His knuckles were as white as the fur on a unicorn. The bubbles rose to the top of the potion, boiling away. Draco stirred so hastily that the liquid inside the cauldron splashed dangerously at the lip.

Hermione laughed, the sound ringing in Draco's ears like a bell.

He shook his head, and got stuck back into his work. Just because he was helping her, didn't mean that he had to feel anything for her anymore. A childhood crush would stay just that. In his childhood, and Merlin knew that he wasn't a child anymore.

"So when were you planning to tell me about your father's into Azkaban?" Hermione sat on the floor of their common room, her legs crossed underneath her and the incriminating Daily Prophet papers surrounding her like the folds of a dress.

Her eyes were anything but sweet, as Draco stepped into the room in his Quidditch gear. Trials had just been conducted. Amongst the people trying out, he found a new beater and another chaser. It seemed as though no one wanted to be in the team anymore, or their parents wouldn't let them return to Hogwarts. None of this helped sooth Draco's guilt.

He rolled his grey eyes at her. "Can I at least take a shower before you start yelling at me? Unless, of course, you want me to smell like sweat while we argue. I have no problem with that." His drawl matched the feeling her eyes portrayed. Bitter.

She nodded, before turning back to the papers around her. "I need you to clarify what is the truth in these papers, and what's bullshit that Rita Skeeter came up with."

Draco nodded back at her, before heading to the shower.

He came out ten minutes later, freshly shaven and smelling like lemons. He sat next to her, on the other side of the yellowing pages.

"Speak," Hermione demanded after a few minutes of Draco looking at the papers mindlessly.

"He went in to break out Yaxley. My father didn't originally get sentenced, but now there's a bounty on his head. Wanted dead or alive. The ministry has questioned me about it, but I have no idea where he is and what he's trying to do." Hermione looked pointedly at him, her eyes seeming to dig deeper in that he wanted them to. It was like she was a shovel and he was a massive pile of dirt about to be dug up. "Until the other day. He killed Crabbe Senior because he wouldn't join their cause. They're trying to rid the world of your kind."

He noticed her glance move to the floor, but carried on anyways.

"He asked me to help him to get to you."

At this, Hermione's panicked eyes shot right back up at him. "You conniving little-"

"I haven't replied yet. Or told anyone. He wants to use you to get to your precious Order of the Phoenix, because he blames Saint Potter and the Weasel King for the Dark Lord's death."

Hermione's face flushed bright red. Draco wasn't sure if it was out of anger or because of he mentioned Weasel King. She sat for a moment, and then perked up, as though she had an idea.

"And we can't talk to my mother just yet, because I think that he's going to go to her." Draco watched as her expression fell.

"We have to tell McGonagall!" Hermione shot onto her feet, sending the bits of paper flying.

Draco's heart missed a beat as the Gryffindor sprinted to the door. He pointed his wand at her. " _Petrificus totalus."_ The words slipped from his mouth like butter sliding down a hot pan. "I can't let you tell her, because if you do that means that I can't help you or myself anymore. I'll be put into ministry care, and I don't trust them."


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione sat on the floor of their common room for the second time that night, right next to Draco. For the first time, she felt sorry for him a little. He couldn't talk to either of his parents, and the school hated him. All he really had going for him was their little task, and his role as Quidditch Captain and Head Boy.

After he undid her paralysis, Draco double checked the doors were locked.

She hated making him open up like this, but it wasn't like they had much of a choice, and also they weren't spilling their guts about crushes.

Hermione Granger could never imagine herself trusting Draco Malfoy with that sort of information. No way in hell.

"So, we can't tell McGonagall because you don't trust her," Hermione started, "And we can't leave the castle because we can't tell McGonagall, and because the Ministry is watching you very carefully and your father wants to come after me, and wants you to help?"

She didn't know what to do, for once in her life. She was trying hard not to go to Narcissa Malfoy herself, but knew that for her safety she shouldn't. Her parents could wait a few days, she supposed.

"That's about it."

Draco leaned back against the couch, his head falling back in exhaustion. Hermione understood to an extent how he felt. Her parents weren't there, either. But the difference was, if her parents could remember her, they would be there for her. He had never been able to rely fully on his parents. They both got stared at like aliens, but for different reasons. They stared at him, because they didn't understand why he was back. They stared at her in awe.

They were the same but completely different at the same time.

His chest rose and fell under the thin shirt he wore. It was funny to see someone who wears suits in the weekends in his pyjamas. Hermione had to admit to herself, he could pull off either look. And he didn't even need her help tying the tie.

His eyes were tightly shut, his eyelashes casting a shadow over his aristocratic cheekbones. Hermione thought that if he were someone in History, he would either be a prince or a noble. With his pale skin, and wealth larger than her entire worth, there was no questioning it.

Maybe he would have been an aristocrat in the French court in the 1700s. He wouldn't even need to put on the makeup to get the fashionable pale skin. He had it naturally. It was flawless.

Hermione stopped herself from getting too caught up in the way that he looked, clearing her throat and standing up.

"I'll let you take the reins on this one," Hermione said, nudging him with her toe. "Three days. And then I'm going to your mother without you. I don't have long before…" Hermione didn't want to think about what they might do. Confiscate her wand? Snap it? Send her into Azkaban for a few days?

Draco sighed in recognition. Hermione trailed off to her room.

The blonde stepped confidently onto the property in front of him. The peacocks were looking a little worse for wear, the garden clearly not being attended to. The manor house stood as a looming shadow over the path to the door. He walked up to the door, and knocked. The door opened obediently, recognising that he was back. Narcissa's wards always let way to him and the others. There was something about her that couldn't let him go.

His footsteps then echoed in the house eerily, ricocheting off the high ceilings.

"Cissa?" His voice echoed out in call for his wife. He had to stay away for a week or so, waiting for the ministry officials to clear out. He knew perfectly well that he would be safe, however. The ministry had nothing to pin on Narcissa or their son.

There was no reply.

There was no noise coming from the basement, either, where they normally held their house elves.

He searched each room, careful not to make too much noise in case he was wrong and it triggered anything.

There was nothing. Not even a portrait yelled at him as he came in. The people in the portraits were missing.

"Cissa!" He yelled louder. No reply again.

He went into the last room down the hallway. There was a blast through the door, which he knew wasn't her doing. She was too kind to the house to be able to do anything. She was also too scared to fix it once it happened.

The room had previously been Draco's. You could've see the hints of childishness coming out in the décor on the walls. Old paintings and such from his preschool days. A few holes in the closet from when he tried using his wand at home after he turned seventeen.

Until the Dark Lord came into their house, and set it up as a base for their case. Lucius had been proud that his family had been chosen to be a home to the Dark Lord, though he was terrified. When the Dark Lord asked something, you didn't say no. That's why the childhood room to his son was then the room of the Dark Lord.

Instead, when Lucius opened the door, you wouldn't have guessed that it was the room of a little boy. There was nothing on the walls, and nothing but black bed sheets and pillows on the bed. The closet was empty, bar from a cloak that none of the Malfoy family dared to touch. Since his fall to _Saint F***ing Potter._

Lucius, while he feared the Dark Lord, sided with him for a reason. Mudbloods were running the world. There was no purity in their life. Nothing of the old tradition that they had all been drilled into believing as a child.

A note had been left, crisp and out of place, on the bed.

Lucius picked it up and read it.

 _My dearest Lucius,_

 _I've fled to another area with the house elves. I don't want what you're doing to ruin mine and Draco's chance at a future. Can't you see we're hurting?_

 _N._

Lucius scoffed. Their futures would have been perfect, had it not been for Potter and the rest of the Order, including the bitch who came up with all the plans. She would be the one to go, first.

It was hard, planning to wipe out an entire race of people.

He remembered her writhing on the floor of their parlour, screaming as Bellatrix threw another _Crucio_ at her. Not because she was muggle born. No, the writing on her arm was because she was a mudblood. She was also a thief.

Narcissa showed mercy with her curses that she used. None the less, she was attacking. She was also a slight disappointment. She didn't want their son to join their cause. The cause that Lucius would gladly die for. That was a funny string to pull with Lucius. He let her ask Severus for help, though, out of mercy for their son. He was a victim in all of this.

 _That boy must choose who he wants to side with._

Lucius hadn't heard anything back from his son yet. But, he also knew it was typical of Draco to not reply to letters.

 _He's just coming up with a plan for the two of you._

 _Yes,_ Lucius grinned maniacally. _He's coming up with a plan. Well done, Draco._

It was hard battling off people on the Quidditch pitch on a regular basis, let alone when they have little vendettas against you for things your father had done.

Draco twisted and turned on his broomstick, through, under, over the people who were purposely getting in his way. The wind blew through his hair, running like fingers through it. The Hufflepuff seeker was right on his tail, so he had to be smart about what he was doing, when he was chasing the snitch. He wouldn't lose to them.

The golden ball stopped for a second, before whizzing right up above the two of them. Draco steered his broom directly up, whereas the Hufflepuff seeker went more for a gradual rise to keep up with the snitch. _Mistake number one._

Draco was a metre away from the snitch. He let go of the broom with one hand, and leaned forwards, his brook going faster now.

The Hufflepuff nodded to one of his teammates, a beater. The beater tried to aim the ball at Draco. _Mistake number two._ The ball never got near Draco.

He could feel the fluttering of the wings of the snitch under his fingertips. He leaned forwards a little more, as the Hufflepuff tried to catch up. _Number three._

The snitch was in Draco's hand before the Hufflepuff got close to him.

The whistle was blown, signalling the end of the game. Slytherin was the winner yet again.

Draco and his teammates landed on the pitch, smiles on their faces. "Good job, guys!" Draco called to his team. His team were about the only people who weren't scared of him. Maybe that was because they could beat bludgers or the quaffle at him when they wanted, though.

The sun was beating down on the pitch, making everything in sight visible. Including a certain Gryffindor's smile at him, and thumbs up.

Draco wasn't sure if she was being nice because she thought they were friends, or because she felt sorry for him. Either way, it was weird.

He didn't know what to think of her. They had both changed so much since the war. Her, with the things she had to face and how she was forced to deal with them. Him, for what he was forced to witness and do. His family only defected to avoid imprisonment. Well, his father did anyways. Draco did it for his school, and his mother did it for him.

Draco's mother had sent him a letter saying that she had left the manor, and was somewhere safe. She didn't want to disclose where in case his father got a hold of it, or one of his newfound followers. She told him that she was safe, and to tell him if he needed her help, or if his father reached out to him. He didn't want to worry her any more than she already was, so he hadn't told her yet.

His father knew nothing about being discreet with his actions against muggle borns. A muggle family was found three days prior, it had said in the newspaper, who had been slaughtered for birthing a witch. Draco kept the newspaper hidden from Hermione.

When she found out, from one of the students in the Gryffindor tower, she just about had his head for it. She didn't blame him for his father's actions, though she was angry about him hiding it from her. If they were going to work together, she had said, they mustn't hide anything from each other.

She was becoming more and more a friend to him. Draco didn't know what her friends thought of it, though. Had she even told them about all of this? Probably not. None of them came back with her, and the last Draco had heard, Harry and Ron were going to training to be Aurors. Draco, as a child, had wanted to be one. But in light of recent events, he knew that it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"I'll see you all on the Quidditch pitch at five thirty Monday morning!" Draco said, much to his team's complaints. He couldn't schedule the pitch for the afternoons. When he had tried, Madam Hooch had said that all the spaces were taken up with her and the other quidditch teams.

He knew it was a load of bullshit, but had learned to hold his tongue. He hated biting everything back, but knew of the repercussions if he didn't.

"You guys played so well!" Hermione gushed to him when they got back to the common room. She stepped forwards, as though she was going to give him a hug, but wrinkled her nose. "You smell like sweat. Go take a shower."

Draco rolled his eyes. They were friends. All was well for the time being.


	11. Chapter 11

"Mister Malfoy, how much longer are you two going to take? You need to travel to Australia to be able to perform the spell, and it may have escaped your notice but Australia is a long way away." McGonagall had called Draco and Hermione up into her office to talk about their progress.

Hermione was going to be sentenced in two weeks. They had 14 days to be able to fix her parents, or else she would be punished for crimes against muggles.

"We've figured out almost how to do it, but I need to get a few more people's input first." Draco tried to stay calm. He knew how long the trip was to Australia, and that he couldn't just apparate there. It wouldn't be that easy. They would have to make a few trips, over a couple of days.

"You must be quick about it," McGonagall warned, peering over her spectacles.

Hermione had remained quiet throughout this whole thing, letting Draco answer all the questions. He could sense she was feeling down about her parents, but he felt unsympathetic towards her. He just needed to get his name cleared. That was all. And at the end of this, they would go back to being enemies. They had to get along for another two weeks, and that was that.

"Well, I have a game to prepare for tomorrow." Draco dismissed himself, standing up. "Permission to leave the premises after the game tomorrow?"

Hermione looked up for the first time, and looked at him. Her eyes were widened, asking him why he didn't run it past her.

McGonagall nodded. She didn't want much to do with the boy's plans, as she knew he would be talking with a few fugitives, and she didn't want to be witness to that.

Draco fled from the scene as fast as he could.

Hermione sat on her bed, reading _Hogwarts: A History._ She didn't know what to think of everything. Previous years, she'd had a friend to talk to, like Ginny or Harry. This year, at a stretch, she had Neville. But even he didn't know of the things that she was going through.

Harry, Ginny and Ron had been writing to her in her weeks at Hogwarts and away from them, and Hermione would open them and read them. However, they mainly ended up unanswered.

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _Are you okay? Ron and I saw the newspapers, and Arthur won't tell us why you were at the ministry! Please talk to us. We're here for you, if you want us to be. We can meet at Hogsmeade one day, if you'd like._

 _Tomorrow, Ron and I are starting training to be Aurors! Can you believe it, Hermione? We're finally getting a move on with our lives!_

 _Ginny is trying to get Molly to let her help out George and Lee with the shop, though Molly isn't too impressed. She says she doesn't need yet another child of hers pulling pranks on her. It's good to see them all joking around again. It was tense for a few days after you got onto the train._

 _How is being Head Girl? I heard that you have to share a dorm with the Head Boy! Who is it, this year? I'm not being told anything!_

 _Love from Harry._

Hermione answered Harry as quickly as she could, without revealing too much to him.

 _Of course I would love to meet you at Hogsmeade! I've missed you all so much! It's a little lonely here with just Neville and Dean to talk to. They're in different classes and whatnot. Tell Ginny to come along, as well, would you? I'm in need of some girl talk._

 _I'm fine with everything happening with the ministry. It was just a misunderstanding, and isn't anything to worry about._

 _Being Head Girl is tiring. All the patrols and the meetings with McGonagall take up so much of my study time, but are worth it, though. I'm having a blast._

 _I'm glad everything is working out on your end, and that everyone is doing okay. Please send them all my love!_

 _Hermione._

Hermione lied to him about the ministry, not wanting Harry to worry, like she knew he would. She didn't want him to do anything drastic. Merlin knows how hopeless Harry was at making plans. She also avoided mentioning Draco as the head boy. She knew that Harry and Ron didn't like him, and that they would try and help her themselves, but if she didn't have the expertise, neither did they.

Her birthday would be tomorrow. The nineteenth of September. Normally, her parents would send her a letter or two, along with cards from her other relatives and a parcel. This year, Hermione knew to expect nothing. She hadn't really celebrated her birthday at Hogwarts much, and she wasn't going to start now.

"Hermione?" Draco poked his head into her room. She didn't even hear him enter the common room. His blond hair was dipping with sweat, and his face was red. _Merlin, these Quidditch blokes take themselves seriously. How much work is flying around on a broom?!_

"What?" She asked hastily, her eyes ablaze. She wanted to go out and find his mother. She wanted to do it without him so badly, especially with her birthday coming up, so she could find her parents and reverse everything.

"We've got permission to leave the castle tomorrow morning. I know where my mother is. She knows we're coming. Be ready to leave the castle at eight. Wait for me in the common room."

He must've had a change of heart. Before, he wanted to postpone them going to see his mother for as long as he could. Now, he was trying to get it over and done with.

"What changed?" Hermione asked him curiously, her eyebrow shooting up.

Draco paused for a moment. "I guess I just want to see my mother."

Hermione knew it was bullshit. Spending her birthday with the Malfoys was the last thing she wanted to do. But if she wanted to see her parents again, and for them to remember her, she would have to do it. Hermione sighed and nodded.

Draco left the room.

 _Well, I better get ready for tomorrow then,_ Hermione thought to herself, as she put her book down and prepared herself for the following day.

Draco met her in the common room at eight in the morning, sharp. He was dressed smartly in a suit, as per usual from their sixth year. His hair was even slicked back. He was surprised when Hermione stepped out of her room in jeans and a tee shirt. Did it not dawn on her who she was meeting? Either way, it was too late now to change into something else.

Draco rolled his eyes. Her shirt was red. Gryffindors.

"We're apparating from here. McGonagall's lowered the apparition wards for the next few minutes for us." Draco offered her his elbow, though he didn't want to be closer to her than he had to. She hesitantly took the nook of his elbow in her hand.

Draco could sense the nerves rolling off of her, even though she had clearly tried to cover it up by fixing her posture straighter. It just looked odd on her. Draco nodded at her, and she sent him a nod back.

Draco apparated them with a snap to the front of the house.

This was a different manor to the one Hermione remembered to be the Malfoy Manor. This house was much smaller, clearly made for just Narcissa. She wondered if Lucius even knew about it, and prayed for her safety and the safety of Draco's mother, that he didn't.

The house was two stories high, the wooden house being painted robin egg blue and white. Draco shook Hermione's hand off his arm, standing in front of the door confidently. He knocked loudly on the door, his knuckles rapping on the white wood.

Hermione stood slightly behind him. She hadn't seen Narcissa Malfoy since the battle of Hogwarts, when she walked in with Harry's body along with the other death eaters. She was surprised to see that Draco had over dressed, and that Narcissa was only in a maxi skirt and a blouse.

The woman offered a hug to Draco, not noticing Hermione at first. She could tell that Draco had missed his mother, despite him denying it all the time. The way that his stance loosened up when he hugged his mother told her everything she needed to know.

Hermione tried not to flinch when Narcissa noticed her. She stood back a little, backing into the house. Hermione was standing a step behind Draco. Her heart wanted to run away, but Hermione forced it to stay still.

"Hi," Hermione began. "I'm He-"

"Hermione Granger," The cool tone of the woman's voice washed over Hermione. "I know who you are."

Hermione nodded. "Rightly so."

Draco could sense the tension. "Mother, can we come in to talk to you?"

"Sure," Narcissa replied, still looking Hermione up and down, as though Hermione were about to blow up her house.

Hermione's hands were curled around a cup of tea, the mug warming her fingertips, even though the weather was nice outside.

Narcissa and Draco were on another couch. The interior of the house was much humbler than the manor. Lucius would hardly suspect her to be here. They slurped their tea awkwardly.

"So, I suspect you're not just here to talk to your dear, old mother, then Draco." Hermione wasn't sure if Narcissa was talking lightly or if she was infuriated by Hermione's presence.

"Yes. Hermione, would you like to?" Draco looked at her expectantly. Hermione was thankful for it, because this wasn't his story to tell. It was hers. She nodded.

"About a year ago, right before the minister was murdered, I obliviated my parent's memory of me. It was kept on the automatic record that the ministry keeps of magic used against muggles, except it wasn't checked until recently. A trial was held, and I was given a month to reverse what I did. I have thirteen days left until I'm punished for my actions." Hermione condensed it as much as she could.

Narcissa gazed at her hesitantly, as though she were reading Hermione's mind. Hermione shifted in her seat.

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable." Narcissa said softly, surprising Hermione. "But what do you think that I can do to help?"

"I know you specialise in magic to do with memories. I've already figured out that it's more of a confundus charm mixed with obliviate. The memories are there, somewhere, but I don't know how to reverse it." Draco spoke for the two of them, however Hermione didn't miss the way that he only mentioned himself.

"I've looked through just about every book on memory charms that there are, and I couldn't find anything. I've looked through case studies, but unfortunately for me, every case varies."

Narcissa hummed, her gaze hardening for a moment, before softening. "I'll see what I can do for you two. I'll be in touch in a few days, hopefully."

Hermione nodded, and smiled gratefully at the woman. Narcissa clearly wasn't expecting it, as she blinked for a moment, before smiling back.

Narcissa searched the girl's memory of her obliviating her parents. It put a weight in her chest to see the things that she was forced to go through because of who she was. She couldn't help being born a witch, any more than Narcissa could help how the earth spun.

She could sense the girl's sadness and loneliness that she felt. It made Narcissa's heart ache from the pain that was inflicted on this one person from the war.

Reversing the spell wouldn't be easy, because she could see that Hermione was a very thorough in her spells. But it could be done.

She could see the desperation in the Gryffindor's eyes. If Hermione wasn't desperate, she wouldn't be standing in front of Narcissa, or have asked Draco for help. Though, a quick scan of Draco's mind of the time that he had spent in Hogwarts for the past three weeks showed her that it wasn't through her will.

Narcissa hated invading their privacy like that, but sometimes she couldn't help it. Legilimency was easy for her. As was occlumency. She would have been long dead in the Dark Lord's reign if she wasn't.

Another hour passed of her catching up with her son, before they needed to go back to the castle to report to McGonagall. Narcissa was sad to see them go, but understood that the wards at Hogwarts was no joke.

"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione said. Narcissa noted the girl's politeness as she shook her hand.

"Narcissa, please."

"Bye, mother," Draco said, giving his mother a short hug.

Draco took Hermione's elbow, but right before they disapparated, Narcissa commented.

"Happy birthday, Hermione."

The shock was evident on Draco's face before Hermione disapparated them back to the castle.


	12. Chapter 12

When they landed back into the common room, parcels were strewn over the floor. They had missed breakfast, having had some at the house. Owls had clearly come and gone for Hermione's birthday. Draco's eyes narrowed on the Gryffindor, as she picked the parcels up from the floor.

He may not have liked her, but he would have liked to know that it was her birthday.

"How old are you now?" He asked curiously, kneeling a little to pick up envelopes for her.

"Eighteen." Hermione's voice squeaked a little when she said it. He handed her the envelopes, before she headed back to her room silently.

He could tell that she was upset about something. She hadn't said much, or commented on anything that morning like she normally would have. Not that Draco was taking note of her behaviour or anything. Or that he cared. He let her wander back to her room, the few parcels and envelopes in hand.

He didn't understand why she was sad on her birthday. She got presents, and she got letters. What was there to be sad about? Couldn't she drink now in the muggle world? Maybe Draco had been misinformed about muggle customs. Draco removed his jacket, and flopped down on the couch. It was a Saturday, so they didn't have any classes. There were a few trips happening for the Care of Magical Creatures classes in the lower year groups, but not for theirs.

He heard Hermione shuffling around in her room, and sniffling. He rolled his eyes. She could be such a drama queen, sometimes. She must've got it from spending all last year with the Weasel. He could be dramatic. Maybe being dramatic was a Gryffindor trait?

Draco sighed to himself. He had nothing to do for the rest of the day, other than homework and writing letters to friends. Maybe he could visit the library and read or something. He was determined to do better this year in his classes. Maybe he could surpass Hermione in grades. He was only narrowly behind her.

There was a few minutes of silence in their rooms, before Hermione's cries disturbed the silence. It was muffled, and a little held back. She clearly wasn't comfortable with crying.

Draco stood from where he was. He was no stranger to tears, especially from women. His mother had shed a few when he got the mark, and then again over the last easter break, when Draco was forced to become more involved in the Dark Lord's schemes. He hesitantly made his way to her room, knocking softly.

"What do you want?" Hermione spat from the inside of the room.

 _Okay, so she gets angry when she cries._ Draco made mental notes to himself. _Anger is her defence system._

He opened the door carefully, poking his head in. Hermione was crushing the letters in her fists, her face streaked with red, the violent red scratch marks on her forearm shown to him from her short sleeve.

Draco took a step into the room. _What in Merlin's name was he doing?_

He sat next to her, their knees touching from the closeness. He could see the cracks in her internal armour, the longer he was with her. Grey met brown. Her dark eyelashes were wet with the tears that she had been shedding. She hadn't shed a single one since he stepped foot into the room.

She brought her free hand up to hastily brush away her tears.

"Why are you upset?"

Hermione scoffed at him, taking a shuddering breath. "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

This was something she had said to herself countless times. She'd be alright in the morning. She could sleep it off. She wasn't dead. There were people that had it worse. She would repeat things like this to make herself stop. She ignored her feelings of grief and sadness.

"No, you're not."

And then Draco did the single most daring thing he had done in his life, and he hugged her

At first Hermione stiffened, her posture straightening. She was expecting that his hands would be cold, so their warmth surprised Hermione. They were wrapped around her waist, his hands settling on her shoulder blades. He pulled her forwards into his chest, so he couldn't see her face.

Hermione didn't know what it was about being hugged, but it made her cry into his chest. The barrier was lowered, and tears upon tears fell from her eyes. They stained his shirt like blood.

Draco could feel her back shaking with sobs. He didn't plan for her to turn into a blubbering mess, but he supposed that he should have expected it. It was either his shoulder, or Longbottom's, and he knew that Longbottom would ask questions, and inquire. Draco didn't ask many questions, and that was okay.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Draco asked, not really knowing what to do once her tears slowed down.

"Not particularly," Hermione said, pulling away from his embrace. They both found themselves a little cold from the loss of touch. In an instant, Hermione's whole demeanour snapped. "Don't you want to go and run to the shower. You've got a _mudblood's_ tears on you now. I suppose that makes you infected, too."

Draco expected her behaviour. One year (give or take) with the Dark Lord had taught him how to sense things coming before they did. She reacted with anger as a way to keep her defences up. If she wanted to do that, that was fine.

"I'm trying not to care about any of that anymore. A life is still a life, and it all means the same." He surprised himself with his words. Hermione looked at him as though he were telling her about his secret love for smelling snails. Confused and a little concerned.

His eyes flickered down to her wrist, where she had clawed at her scar like a mad woman.

"You know, you could have told them who we were the second we walked into your house." Hermione was stepping on eggshells. She was being vague, but she knew that he knew what she was talking about. "Why didn't you?"

Draco chuckled. "Wow. You all really do think I'm heartless." He paused for a moment. "I might not be the nicest person on the planet, but I didn't get control over what I was taught to believe, or what my parents did."

Hermione dropped his gaze.

"I didn't, because I knew that I was going to be safe with my parents around, and with their protection. None of you had wands, and I knew as much as I had no control over all of those things, that you didn't have control over who you were born to be, either. If I could help you out, after all of the nasty things that I've done, even just a little, I would be able to forgive myself."

Seeing his mother had changed him. Hermione knew that with his father lurking around every corner, Draco needed to pick a side to be on. His father's, and the way that he was raised. Or he could choose to be on the side of the people, and control his life for once. His mother, as they married young, didn't get to control anything of hers, and now she was forced into hiding because of it.

If there was one time in his life that Draco was allowed to be unapologetic, it was his late teens.

They sat in comfortable silence for a minute.

"When I was a child, I knew that I was different to all the other children. There was something that was missing in my life, and for the longest time I didn't know what was wrong. I struggled making friends, because of the things that I found myself being able to do. I would try to show the other kids things like me making a flower blossom in the winter, and they all called me a freak for it.

My parents felt every bit of pain that I did. Sometimes I heard my mother crying to my dad about how she couldn't fix it. She couldn't do anything, because there was nothing wrong with me. We were all so happy when McGonagall came to visit us. It changed my world, quite literally. I remember her coming to my front door, dressed in robes, and I knew that there was something about her that was like me. And then she asked to come in and explain everything. I had finally found some place that I belonged, where there were kids like me. I had longed to belong for most of my life.

I remember staying up to memorise books about wizarding history, just so that I would know what was normal and what wasn't, just so that I wouldn't be kept in the dark about anything. I was so excited for Hogwarts. To me, it was like someone had handed me the piece of the puzzle that was missing.

But then I came to Hogwarts, and no one really wanted to be my friend. Be it because I had muggle parents, with mundane jobs, or because I was too into my studies, either way, I was cast on the outside again. The only people that seemed to love me, or even like me, were my parents. They would send me letters every day, and I would send them back. So when I had to obliviate them for what I was, it killed me a little on the inside, because I had lost another piece to myself, and I'm not sure that I'll ever get it back."

Draco stared at her for a moment, realising how different their lives had been. He had a private tutor to teach him everything he needed to know. Basic mathematics, reading and writing skills, basic spells and wizarding history. He had house elves to fulfil his every need, and parents rich enough to be able to give him the world.

His shoulders had drooped during her speech, and something about her speech saddened him in ways that he didn't understand. Her story about her parents made something dawn on him. Her sadness when she got the letters and parcels.

"I take it that this is your first birthday without them," Draco moved closer to her, so that both their backs were pressed against the foot of her bed, and their legs stretched in front of them.

"Yeah," She croaked. "The big one-eight. I'm officially an adult now, in the muggle world. I can buy a flat, adopt a child, get married, drink, and get a tattoo without my parent's permission now," Hermione laughed bitterly. "That's ironic."

Draco frowned at her bitterness, but understood it. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

"Please?"


	13. Chapter 13

Narcissa was surrounded by books and letters from her ancestors. The Black Family. Half of her family archives were confiscated by the ministry for containing dark magic. There wasn't much on memory charms and spells, but she figured there had to be something at least a little helpful.

The old papers smelled like dust, and reminded her of the manor. Like the manor to Lucius, the archives were passed onto her from the generations above, when her family died. It hadn't been easy to recover them from the Ministry's inspection, but she couldn't let her family's knowledge go to waste. She had taken some with her, thankfully, when she left from the manor. Because if worse came to worst, she could make sure that they could go onto Draco or to her sister.

 _Sometimes the use of the_ Cruciatus Curse _can force a person to remember things that they've been spelled to forget._

Narcissa scoffed. Unhelpful.

She dug some more, her eyes skimming the texts on the pages. There were mentions of unforgiveables, things that you could find in textbooks. But then, she hit the jackpot.

 _The use of Obliviate can sometimes be reversed through the use of an old memory, or something to do with the person(s) old life, as it may trigger the person to remember that day, or that memory, which can lead to the recovery of other memories._

This is what she was looking for. Hermione needed something like pictures, or some old toy of hers to show her parents to trigger their recovery of memory. Narcissa smiled to herself. Now, to find the other part to the recovery. A reverse _Confundus_ charm. And Hermione Granger knew how to do those.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I hope you had a lovely birthday._

 _I've found some very helpful information in the Black Family Archives that I think would be worth a try, if given some extra research. It says that sometimes the Obliviate spell can be reversed from the use of a memorabilia (a photo, or an item) of an important memory for both you (the thing you're trying to recover) and the people the spell was used on._

 _I hope this information was helpful. I believe the Black Archives to be very helpful, however you may want to conduct some extra research to make sure that you have it right._

 _I wish you and Draco the best of luck in your endeavours._

 _Tell him to answer my Owls. I don't appreciate being ignored by my only son._

 _Narcissa Malfoy._

Hermione skimmed the letter, shouting for joy. "Draco! Come here! Your mother found something."

She heard him bolt up from where he was in his room, and a few things crash to the ground. He was being oddly attentive the last couple of days, not that she was complaining. It was nice. He quickly opened her door, and rushed to read the letter.

He grinned at her, something she had hardly ever seen before. It lit up his face like someone had cast a _Lumos_ in front of it. "This is amazing news!"

"Yeah! I basically just have to go to Australia and reverse it!" Hermione's eyes were alight with happiness. They were both looking at each other with massive grins on their faces.

Their faces were only centimetres apart from each other, Draco's eyes flickering from hers to her lips every now and again. Hermione could feel his minty breath on her face. One of his hands moved up slightly, however hesitantly stayed back from touching her.

Hermione could feel her heartrate speed up

Before anything could happen, Draco shook his head and pulled away from her. It was then that Hermione realised she had been holding her breath, and let it all out in a sigh. She leaned back on the bed, sitting up with her arms propping her up.

"That's- that's great news," He said soberly. "Let's tell Headmistress McGonagall."

And just like lightning, he was gone.

"I trust that I can rely on you two to get there and back safely, without any hiccups? I will write letters to your teachers to let you out of class for the rest of the week so that you don't have to be bake at any specific time. Please do inform me if anything were to go awry." McGonagall had sat them down in her office again, explaining her expectations of the trip. Draco didn't understand why she felt they needed them. They were both above the age of seventeen, legally adults in the Ministry's eyes. "I've set up a portkey to show up in front of their house." She held out an object wrapped in brown cloth. "Don't touch it until you need to come back."

Hermione nodded eagerly, her toes tapping on the floor beneath her as though she couldn't wait to leave.

"You two will leave tomorrow morning, when I will give you the port key to go there, and the one to come back. The port key will close off at 10am, so you have time to get some breakfast before you leave. Bring the essentials that you will need. The port key to get back closes at 3pm on Saturday. I trust that is enough time to do that you need to do, Miss Granger."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione replied hastily, her eyes more alight than Draco had seen them since she got into the train.

He didn't know what he had been thinking that morning, almost kissing her. He was so happy for her, and the work that they had done to get there wouldn't be for nothing. Somehow, he had gotten attached to this case, which he never intended to do.

He wanted to come back to Hogwarts, finish his education without bias, restore his family name and go on living his life without friends. However, he had found himself caring more for Hermione than he wanted to admit to himself. He cared about her happiness, and about her parents. Draco wasn't sure if what he was feeling was protectiveness, guilt, or pity. He prayed that it was one of the latter.

They quickly left McGonagall's office, with smiles on their faces.

"I can't believe it!" Hermione shrieked joyously, the skip in her step growing. Draco was walking beside her, his smirk having turned into a smile for her. Her happiness was contagious.

Hermione stopped for a moment, and pulled Draco to a stop. Her mood seemed to have sobered.

She looked at him right in the eyes. "Thank you," She said. "You didn't have to help me, and I know that I was being difficult at the beginning of the four weeks, and you've helped me get my parents back, and you weren't too difficult about it. So thank you."

The tension between the two was able to be cut with a knife. He needed to say something. Fast. The silence was borderlining awkward.

"Well, I only did it because my family name needs to be cleared."

The words came out before he could stop them.

He saw the shock register on her face for a moment, before she wiped her face clear of emotion.

"Okay," She said, turning around to walk back to their room. She felt like he had just wiped his ass with her thanks and gratitude.

Draco was left standing there, wondering what the hell happened and where the hell his attitude change came from. Either one of his attitude changes. He shook his head. She needed to know the truth as to why he helped her.

He shook his head. Not like he cared about what she thought about him, right?

With that, he turned on his heel and headed to the Quidditch pitch.

The morning came quicker than either of them anticipated, but both were ready for it. Hermione had spent the night memorising all the things she needed, and everything they needed to do. Draco had spent the night tossing and turning, though had fallen asleep rather quickly, knowing that the day was going to be long. He knew better than to toss and turn when something big was about to happen.

Hermione started packing the things into a small purse that had an extension charm on it, like the one she took on the run with her. She didn't know what they were going to need, so she packed muggle money, food, clothes and potions. For luck, she chucked in a few memory charm books.

The memorabilia she had brought with her was a picture of her and her parents- a moving one. It was her first moving picture. The man in the shop had shown her how to use it, and took a picture so that she could remember the day she bought all her things to fit into who she was born to be.

Her father's arm was wrapped around her on one side, and her mother was on the other. Neither of them looked old in this photo, though Hermione suspected that they had aged since she left them. In case that one didn't work, she had other albums of photos and a blanket from when she was a child.

"Are you ready to leave?" Draco said to her, waiting in the common room for her. He could sense her nerves from a mile away, thought she had tried to disguise it with a straightened posture and a _pepper up_ potion to cover the lack of sleep. Draco had been trained to look for weaknesses and tell-tale signs of anxiety. Her fingers wringing the strap to her handbag was a massive give-away.

"Yes." Hermione tried to keep her voice level, as though what he had told her the night before hadn't hurt her feelings. She walked past him, ignoring the smell of cologne as she passed him.

Draco followed behind her on the way to McGonagall's office.

McGonagall was sitting there apprehensively, as though she had been anticipating their arrival. Her toe was tapping nervously on the concrete ground. Her eyes darted up to greet them as they entered the office.

"Good morning, Professor," Hermione said, more hospitable than she had spoken to Draco.

"Are you ready, dear?" Hermione nodded, and turned to Draco.

"Are you?" She asked him, daringly. Whether that was a dig at him, or a genuine question, she wasn't sure. Either way, Draco nodded.

McGonagall handed over a small object wrapped in a brown cloth. Draco could just about feel it's pull.

"You must hold hands before you go, so that the both of you are transported," McGonagall said. "This is the one for when you're coming back. Keep an eye on it."

She gestured so that Hermione would link hands with Draco, which she did hesitantly. She didn't ignore the fact that his hands were surprisingly cold, but smooth and somewhat comforting.

McGonagall opened her bag that was hanging off her wrist, and dropped in the portkey.

"Expect to be feeling a little woozy, as it is quite the way to travel." She sounded more nervous than Draco felt. He had been asked to do worse things while his parents were following the Dark Lord. To him, this was a piece of cake. "I'll see you both when you return. Owl me if anything changes or send a _patronus_. Whichever is faster."

Hermione dropped Draco's hand, much to his surprise, and threw her arms around the older woman. "Thank you, Professor."

Draco tried to pretend like he wasn't standing there awkwardly, but the truth was hard to deny. He felt something for Hermione, though he hadn't quite figured out what it was, yet.

Hermione let McGonagall go from their hug, and stood back to take Draco's hand.

"Are you ready?"

And before Hermione and Draco could comprehend, they were being whirled off into another hemisphere.

 **A/N**

 **Hey y'all. Thanks for getting me to 1K!**

 **I've been in a bit of a rough patch so I'm so sorry that this update took so long.**


	14. Chapter 14

Maybe it was that Hermione had never been to Sydney, Australia, or that something was actually wrong, but something didn't feel right in the air. It felt heavy, and somewhat weird. She knew that it was spring time in Australia, and knew that there were time differences and weather changes.

When she looked to her side, she knew what was wrong.

Draco had teleported using the portkey with her, but he was lying on the concrete beside her. His eyes were flickering like an old movie, moving up and down over and over. His head was shaking. She didn't know what was happening. None of this was in the textbooks that she had studied about portkeys. Maybe it was one of the changes?

She quickly got out her wand, and fired spell after spell at the boy's chest. None of which seemed to work. Right before she was going to revert to muggle methods, the seizures wracking his body stopped, and he was eerily still.

His face was pale, no colour being left in it from when he was rocking on the floor. His eyes were open, but gave no signs of life, or that he could see her.

"Oh sweet Merlin," Hermione cursed, her hands going to cover her mouth.

He was dead.

She was in Australia by herself, with the dead body of the head boy.

Right when she was about to get out the return port key, so they could go home, Draco sat bolt upright, his chest heaving. Colour returned to his cheeks immediately. He had his eyes closed tightly, and his arms were holding him up. They shook like branches in the wind, so Hermione positioned herself behind him so that his back was supported by her.

They were no where near being friends, but she didn't want something bad to happen to him, either.

"He's coming. He knows we're here." Was all Draco spluttered out. It reminded Hermione of when Harry was talking about Voldemort, when they were on the run.

It didn't take her long to figure out who she was talking about.

"Your father?" She asked, needing confirmation.

"Who else, Granger?" His abruptness never failed to annoy, and concern her at the same time. How long had he not spoken to many people other than her? He was clearly lonely, and upset. And that was never a good combination, Hermione had learned to know.

Draco tried to get up, but found his body weak. Where they were was still warm, but away from people. Hermione would need to apparate them into the city somewhere, or into a wizarding town to stay the night, while she figured out their next steps.

When they arrived on the edge of the small wizarding community, Hermione noticed the drop in Draco's temperature. Not just his mental barrier being put up, but a physical drop in his temperature.

"You're unwell. We need to get you somewhere." Hermione helped him limp over to the nearest shop corner. Draco leaned on the wall heavily. Something was definitely amiss. He seemed exhausted. More so than what would be expected from using a long-distance port key.

"I just need a second." Draco panted out his words, as though he had just come back from running around the quidditch pitch three times.

"I'm going to go in and see where we can stay, and then I'll come back out here, okay?" Hermione said to him, trying to meet his eyes. They were flickering everywhere but at her, as though he were purposefully trying to avoid eye contact.

After the words spilled from her lips, Draco's eyes darted to her in alarm. "We can't split up." And for the first time in what seemed like forever, Hermione could see the scared, defenceless child. His eyes were wide, and alert. "Just give me one minute and I'll be in with you. You can't leave me here."

Hermione nodded, leaning against the building beside him for a few minutes while he recovered. "Let's go." He demanded, standing up straight, frightening her at how fast he moved.

As soon as she was up, he gripped her wrist and they made their way inside. Hermione felt… odd. They had walked into a pub, like the Three Broomsticks. It was more modern, though, and held less space for people to come through.

"Hi," Hermione greeted the bartender. "Do you know if there's anywhere we can stay around here?"

The girl's eyes flickered from Draco's hand on her wrist, to Hermione's eyes. "How many nights are you looking to stay?"

"Three nights maximum." Draco chipped in from where he was standing back.

The girl's face turned into a sneer. "I wasn't asking you. Are you okay?" The last question was aimed at Hermione. It took a few seconds for Hermione to process what was happening, but when she did, she was quick to smoothen the situation.

"I'm fine. I'm here looking for my parents. They're muggles, you see, and he's just here helping me find them." The girl's weary look never left Draco.

"There is a spare room upstairs if you want to take it. Normally it's for people who are so drunk that they can't apparate home, so there's only one bed."

"We'll take it," Hermione said, without checking it with Draco. She just needed somewhere where they could both rest. "We're both exhausted, so we're thankful that there's room."

"I'm Julie, by the way. Your face looks familiar. Have I seen you in the papers?" She asked, stepping away from the counter. The bar was empty, almost. One person was sitting by the fire, warming their feet.

"Maybe," Hermione shrugged. "Who knows what pictures of the war get around these days?" She tried to joke, and laugh. Thankfully, Julie ran with it.

She led them to a room just out back. There was a small, wooden bed in the corner of the room, along with a sink and a few spare blankets.

"I live upstairs, so you can use the shower in my room, if you'd like, in the morning. We close at 2, and open at 3pm. So any times between there should be sweet."

Julie hung around the room for a minute, clearly not seeing the exhaustion that was painted onto Draco's face. "If you need me at all, I'll be upstairs or by the bar." She left hesitantly, closing the door slowly behind her.

As soon as the door was closed, Draco got his wand out. He cast silent spells on the room, the streams of light coming out the end of his wand.

"Draco, you should try sleep your fever off." Hermione tried to talk to him, to no avail.

"I don't have a fever," He said stubbornly, still casting spells. Hermione, fed up, reached her hand over to feel his forehead, and it was as she suspected. Burning.

"Draco, go and get some sleep. If it'll make you feel better, I'll stay right here and guard the room. You're not of any use to me if you're sick." Draco stopped what he was doing, and sat down on the bed.

"We're not safe here," He said eerily. Hermione moved to stand in front of him.

"Why not?"

"My father knows where we are. Where you are. He's coming to find you."

It didn't take long for Draco to fall asleep. At first, he refused to go down. In the end, they compromised. He would go to sleep, if Hermione sat on the bed beside him, and held his hand.

"And you're not to leave the room without me," He had demanded. Hermione was almost offended, had it not been for the childish look of vulnerability she had seen earlier. The had was to make sure that she stayed next to him. "We're in a different country and neither of us know what to expect."

He seemed more like her mother than her arch nemesis at that moment, reminding her of how dangerous the world was. Her mother used to scold her at being so trusting of people all the time. It was naiveite.

Looking at him now, she saw something she never often saw. A softer side. Maybe it was just because she was tired, or because being angry at each other in itself was draining, but she forgave him. He had suffered, too. He knew what it was like to be in the type of pain that she was in. Not being able to talk to your parents, when you needed them. He never was able to do that.

Hermione shook her head. Now wasn't the time to be catching feelings for him. She was going to restore her parent's memories of her and then go back to Hogwarts. They would have nothing to talk about other than their head boy and girl duties. Maybe it was better that way.

And for some strange reason, it took until Draco woke up again a few hours later for her to come to terms with that.

He looked around drowsily, his eyes hooded by his eyelids. It reminded her of a child waking up from a long nap. Sleep was burrowed in the corners of his eyes, the tiredness in them evident. His stormy eyes flickered down to their joint hands, and her unchanged position. Surprise flashed in them.

He untangled their hands.

"Where do your parents live? We need to do this as fast as possible." He sat up on the wooden bed and stretched his hands upwards. Hermione's eyes darted to the door.

"McGonagall gave me the address on a piece of paper a few days ago. It's in my bag." Hermione _accioed_ her bag, and the slip of paper. "We can apparate once you're feeling better."

Draco dropped his arms. "What's the time?" His eyes were still half-shut, but he seemed determined to go anyways.

"Locally? It's sometime after midnight." Hermione did the mental calculations of the time difference. She had read a book about Australia before coming.

"We can't go until tomorrow, then. Did you bring any food? Or do I need to _accio_ some?" Hermione shoved the slip of paper back into her bag, and brought out some food. "Maybe you should get some sleep, too?"

His concern made Hermione's chest pound. "I'm alright." Hermione said, partially not wanting to sleep, as in England it was only some time in the afternoon. Partially because she didn't want anything bad to happen.

"I'm not going to run off on you," Draco said snarkily. "And I could hardly get away with murdering you, either. And besides, with my father on the loose, I'm the safest person to be around. He couldn't endanger me in any way."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his logic, but leaned back on the pillows anyways. Her eyes fluttered shut. She felt Draco's weight even out next to her. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"Goodnight, Granger."

 **A/N**

 **So this is a bit of a filler chapter, if I'm going to be completely honest. My school year is coming to an end, so I'm busy with studying for exams and trying not to die because of the workload (which is only going to get worse from here).**

 **I want some more ideas that I can incorporate into the plot, so if y'all could help a sister out that would be amazing. Obviously, I know where the main plot is going, but I also need some more space and some other elements for it all to blend well. If you could leave a comment for me, that would be amazing!**

 **xoxo**


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